The Lonely Company
by Kamen Rider Gaim
Summary: As the Master of Death, Harry cannot be taken by time. His friends were allowed to live out their lives, while he remained unchanged until they finally passed on. With nothing left to live for in his world, he sought out a new world, where he will find new friends and more danger than he's ever been in before. Middle-Earth might never be the same again, after Harry's done with it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything concerning Harry Potter or The Hobbit in anyway.

Elven speech will be in_ italics._

Black Speech will be written _**like this.**_

I know it's been a while since I've updated, but my laptop crashed and I lost all my chapters. For a while I was contemplating giving up, but I got over it and started writing again. I haven't posted any in a while because of school/life/video games, but I should be resuming regular updates soon.

As you may have noticed, I've gotten rid of the Captain America story because it wasn't going anywhere. I've mapped out most of my stories except Bonds of the Soul, because I'm getting pissed with how KT is proceeding with the manga. I may discontinue it, at this rate.

Anyways, this is a Harry x Tauriel story. Sorry Kíli fans.

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><p>He pulled the hood of his cloak down a bit further, as several of Bree's nosier people were trying to get a glimpse of his face. Had he been anyone else, he would have complained about choosing such a miserable place to meet. But for Hadrian—Harry to his friends—Potter, the rain reminded him of England, a place he had not called home for close to thirty years now.<p>

Dumbledore had been mistaken. The Master of Death was more than one who could accept death as an inevitability. The one who possessed and controlled the three hallows was forever excluded from time's inevitable grasp. He was not immortal, and he would frown in distaste at ever being referred to as such for its reminder of Voldemort, but he could no longer age. At only twenty-four, he had seen his friends and loved ones live out their lives, while he remained unchanged, until they all eventually passed. At the very least, Dumbledore had been right about one thing. There were things worse than dying.

With nothing left to give his life meaning, Harry had considered ending things there, but realized that his parents, godfather, and friends… all of them would have wanted him to find something _new_ to live for, something to keep him going.

The Master of Death had a place in all worlds, because _death_ existed in all worlds. It had been close to thirty years now since he had departed from his world and found his way to Middle-Earth, which he now called home. And he would not be leaving again anytime soon, having found himself people he could call friends. Friends he wouldn't outlive and lose.

Harry moved swiftly across the wet, muddy paths between the buildings of Bree, only stopping once he was standing across from The Prancing Pony, the most well-known establishment in this small village.

He watched as a short, hooded man entered the inn, but not before turning to check for followers, allowing Harry a glimpse of his face. His appearance matched with what Gandalf had told him. This was Thorin Oakenshield, with whom the two of them were to meet.

Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the blacksmith's workshop, not at all bothered by the rain thanks to his full-body impervious charm, and waited for the grey wizard to arrive. It hadn't been a full minute, before he noticed a pair of men approaching from the alley behind the workshop. When he heard the sound of a blade being drawn, he reached up with his hands and channeled magic through his fingers into his hood, rendering his entire form invisible.

However, they had moved past his position without pause, and were about to make their way towards the Prancing Pony. They were not targeting him, but Thorin. The sight of each man grasping a half-drawn dagger removed any possibility that they might not be threats. Stalking up behind the left man, his form hidden due to the cloak of invisibility, he clamped his left hand over the man's mouth, while simultaneously grasping the man's neck with his right hand, and released a wandless diffindo into his neck.

The man's muffled struggles ended almost immediately, and Harry carefully lowered him to the ground, and placed a muggle-repelling charm over the man's body and a part of the alleyway. He repeated his actions on the second man, dragging him over to lay beside his deceased partner. Fishing through their pockets, he found a scrap of paper…written in Black Speech. This was bad.

He stood up quickly and dispelled the magic of his cloak, allowing him to be seen, though his face was still concealed within his hood. The impervious charm caused the blood on his hands to slide off to the ground, as he made his way towards the inn, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Turning to meet the owner, Harry wasn't surprised to see that Gandalf the Grey had finally arrived.

"You're late," Harry said by way of greeting.

"A wizard is never late. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to," Gandalf answered with a smile, shifting his wooden staff from his right hand to his left.

"Yes well, the definition of late changes when…" Harry paused, glancing left and right at the people milling about the area, and decided to switch tongues. _"…when men bearing papers written in black speech arrive."_

He fished out the paper and was about to hand it to Gandalf, only to stop short at the matching piece of paper the wizard was holding out to him. _"You have encountered them too, I see. Did they find Thorin Oakenshield?"_

Harry stored the paper away, well used to Gandalf's habit of knowing more than he let on. At least he was willing to share information if it was important to know, unlike another wise old wizard he had once known. _"They already knew he was here when I arrived. I stopped them from reaching the inn, but I don't know how many more there are."_

"_Then let us not waste any more time and introduce ourselves, shall we?"_ Gandalf held the door open to allow Harry entrance first. The warmth of the inn was a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside its doors, and Harry released a soft sigh of content under his breath. He pulled down his hood, revealing windswept black hair and focused green eyes, no longer hidden behind glasses, and started scanning the tables for Thorin. He idly ignored the drunken laughter, smiling hobbits, and weary travelers before finally spotting the dwarf sitting alone, eating a simple meal of bread and cheese.

From his peripheral vision, he noticed two men on opposite ends of the tavern standing up, about to head over, until Gandalf sat down at the table. Harry blinked slowly, before pulling over a seat and joining his friend. He had entered first, and yet Gandalf had reached the table before him, without him noticing. He really should stop being surprised by the actions of his fellow wizard. Even if he did well to hide it, Harry could tell Gandalf was more powerful than him.

He noticed—with no small amount of relief—that both men had halted their advance, and sat back down, watching the three of them for an opportunity.

"Mind if we join you?" Gandalf asked knowingly, well aware that Thorin had been reaching for his sword only moments ago. They could not have such a commotion within the inn. It would draw unnecessary attention and endanger the innocent lives around them.

He reached out a hand and stopped one of the tavern maids, on her way back to the bar. "I'll have the same, and my friend here will have—"

"A pint of Barliman's Best, please." Harry interrupted, giving her a friendly smile, which the woman was only too happy to return, so used to customers demanding things from her without manners or gratitude.

Thorin let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and moved his hand away from his sword, allowing to rest beside his plate on the table.

"We should probably introduce ourselves. My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey. With me is my friend of many years, Hadrian Potter."

"I know who you are," Thorin answered, meeting Gandalf's gaze with his own, before inspecting the man sitting beside him. Hadrian, as Gandalf had called him, was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, seemingly relaxed in the cozy setting of the tavern. His eyes however, brighter than any emerald his people had ever mined, revealed the caution and tension within, born from hard years and experience. A warrior, if ever he saw one. A shift in the man's posture moved his cloak aside just enough to reveal two gleaming silver hilts attached to his hip, one with a brilliant blue sapphire embedded in the pommel.

Were the situation different, he'd ask to inspect their craftsmanship. What he could see of them now, spoke well of their work.

"Well now, this is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" Gandalf enquired, and Harry was surprised to hear genuine curiosity in the question. Apparently, Gandalf had known Thorin _would_ be here, but not why.

Thorin shifted uneasily at the question. "I—" Thorin stopped and directed a questioning glance towards Hadrian.

"You may speak in front of him. He has my full trust," Gandalf stated, receiving a grateful smile from Harry.

Thorin directed one last look towards Hadrian, a mix of confusion and curiosity, before speaking once more. "I received word that my father had been seen wandering the wilds near Dunland," Thorin admitted after a moment's pause. "I went looking. I found no sign of him."

"Thorin, it's been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thrain," Gandalf replied.

"He still lives. I am sure of it," Thorin denied, with nothing but conviction in his voice.

The tavern maid returned on Harry's right, reaching across him to set the plate of food before Gandalf, which gave him an ample view of her bosom, though his eyes stayed firmly upon her face. He gratefully took the pint from her though, and slipped a gold coin into her hand.

"For the food and silence," Harry whispered, in response to her astonished look. She took the coin and slipped it into her pocket before nodding and moving off. "Cheers," he said, raising his mug towards Thorin before taking a sip of the perfectly brewed ale. It was no butterbeer, but it was delicious all the same.

"My father came to see you before he went missing. What did you say to him?" Thorin inquired with urgency.

"I urged him to march upon Erebor, to rally the seven armies of the Dwarves, to destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain." Gandalf answered. "And I would say the same to you. Take back your homeland."

Thorin sat a bit straighter and pushed aside his plate, no longer hungry. He picked up his own mug, paused just before it reached his lips and returned the earlier cheer to Hadrian with a nod of his head, before taking one long gulp of the ale. "This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?"

"No, it is not." Gandalf admitted solemnly. "The Lonely Mountain troubles me. Thorin, that dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later…darker minds will turn towards Erebor."

"Or, we should say they already have," Harry interrupted. He reached into his cloak and pulled up the folded piece of paper, setting it on the table, with his action mirrored by Gandalf. As one, the two of them unfolded the papers and pushed them forward, revealing the writing laid upon them. "A promise of payment, written in Black Speech." Gandalf told him, once they were revealed.

"Payment for what," Thorin asked, staring down at the dark ink.

"Your head." Gandalf said, when it was clear Hadrian would not. Lord Elrond had taught Harry much, but would not teach him Black Speech. He learned only enough to recognize it upon sight and sound.

"Someone doesn't want you reaching that mountain," Harry surmised.

Gandalf nodded in agreement with Harry's assessment of the situation, for he had reached the same conclusion himself. Therefore, if someone did not want Thorin to reach the mountain, it seemed only fitting that he do so anyway. "Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the Throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the dwarves. Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families. Demand that they stand by their oath."

Thorin leaned forward seriously. "The seven armies swore that oath to the one who wields the King's Jewel. The Arkenstone. It is the only thing that will unite them, and in case you had forgotten, that stone was stolen by Smaug."

Harry tilted his head down, watching as the two men from earlier stood up and made to leave the tavern, casting one last look upon them before exiting into Bree. They would not complete their goal this night, nor would they throw their lives away against Gandalf and himself. Mostly Gandalf. He was an unknown in these parts, and that suited him just fine.

"What if we were to help you reclaim it?" Gandalf proposed, gesturing to himself and Harry, who frowned slightly in thought, before nodding slowly in consent. He had no complaints about helping someone reclaim their home.

A spark was ignited within Thorin, a fire that had long since been extinguished, and remained cold for many years. Hope. The seed was planted and already beginning to grow. With Gandalf and this… Hadrian Potter, who was clearly more than he _allowed_ others to see, the possibility of reclaiming Erebor was suddenly becoming more than a fleeting dream.

"How?" Thorin asked, eagerness and interest intermixed within his voice, though there was still a sliver of doubt present. "The Arkenstone lies half a world away, buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon."

"Yes, it does. Which is why we're going to need a burglar."

Thorin's eyes darted over to Hadrian, earning a shake of the head from Gandalf.

"Harry is a skilled combatant, with more than a few… tricks up his sleeve, but for this task, we will require a different sort of person. I have someone in mind, but will need to meet with him first." Gandalf said.

Harry turned a questioning gaze towards his fellow wizard, wondering who he had in mind to fit the role of a burglar. Surely someone like that would be rather greedy or untrustworthy. Likely both. Still, he'd withhold any real judgment until he met the man first. He'd been on the receiving end of preconceptions from others for nearly his entire life, after all.

"Gather what dwarves you can, those that will heed your call. Tell them to head at the Shire in one week's time. You will know where to meet," Gandalf instructed as he stood up to leave.

"Until next time, Master Oakenshield," Harry said, as he followed after Gandalf, bringing his hood over his head. They stepped out into the rain of Bree, and over towards the shadows to their left. Harry spotted Thorin leaving the Prancing Pony while he waited, knowing Gandalf had more to say.

"_If I recall correctly, you did not carry elven blades upon your hip when last we met,"_ Gandalf muttered to Harry, who did not bother trying to conceal the hilts from the wizard's view.

"_Lord Elrond gifted them to me. He said it was fitting that I be the one to wield them again, and has granted me his blessing to carry them into battle. Of course, he had to teach me how to use them properly, so I wouldn't kill myself with them first."_ Harry finished, with a grin.

"_Lord Elrond gave them to you? Then… that must be Elvir, the Star's Jewel, and Ithilur, the Moon's Heart," _Gandalf murmured, staring at the blade resting on each side of Harry's waist.

"_You know of them," _Harry confirmed.

"_The sister swords wielded by Ladrengil and Lothuial in the last alliance of elves and men. Many have wondered what happened to those swords and sought them out, only to return empty-handed." _Gandalf informed him, before leaning over to meet Harry's gaze with his own. _"I have long suspected that Lord Elrond had recovered them, and kept them hidden and safe for all these years. To hear that he found you worthy of carrying them speaks much about you, Harry. I concur with Lord Elrond's decision, that they should remain in your possession."_

"_I wish I could deny what you and Lord Elrond say about me, but I think my friends would tell me I'm long past that point. Right now all I can do is try to put them to good use," _Harry responded._ "Do you want me to follow Thorin, or come with you to meet this…burglar you have in mind?"_

"_Neither. Remain here in Bree for the time being, and head to the Shire at the week's end. Watch for any more… unsavory folk that might pass through. This will not be the last attempt on Thorin's life." _Gandalf instructed, before heading towards the stables, leaving Harry with no choice but to rent a room for the next seven days. Why did Gandalf always take the easy tasks for himself?

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><p>Bilbo was having a good day. An enjoyable, <em>normal<em> day, which was pretty much every day that he could relax in the Shire smoking a pipe filled with Old Toby with not a sign of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins to be seen. With his eyes closed in relaxation, Bilbo took a deep draw from his pipe and blew out a moderate-sized smoke ring, only for it to transform into a butterfly and flutter back into his face, causing him to gasp in surprise.

He blinked his eyes open and found himself staring up at an elderly man, wearing a gray robe with a pointed hat of the same shade. The man's beard was quite long, and managed to appear both unkempt and neatly-trimmed at the same time, though Bilbo wouldn't be able to say how, if pressed. The most distinctive feature though, was the wooden stick he carried in his right hand, carved from some type of gnarled wood, and twisted at the top into a spiral shape.

Bilbo looked up at the man with inquiring eyes, wondering as to his purpose, only to receive silence. When it was clear the man standing in front of his gate would not be leaving, he began looking around to see if he was here for someone else, but quickly realized how pointless that was; he was the only one here.

"Good morning." Bilbo eventually greeted, if only to break the suddenly uncomfortable silence.

"What do you mean?" The man replied. "Do you wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on? Hm?"

Not quite sure how to take his question being broken apart and changed into several different interpretations so rapidly, Bilbo paused, as he tried to decide how best to respond—whether to answer them one by one or all at once. "All of them at once, I suppose." He answered, quickly settling for the latter, as it wouldn't take as much time to do so.

"Hmm," was all the man responded with, and Bilbo wasn't sure whether that meant he'd said the wrong thing or not.

"Can I help you?" Bilbo asked politely. No need to forgo one's manners, after all.

"That remains to be seen. I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."

"An adventure?" Bilbo frowned. Apparently this man knew little of hobbits and their love of a quiet, normal, and peaceful life. "No, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures. Nasty, disgusting, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner," he finished, chuckling at his own joke, as he stood up to retrieve the mail.

He made a show of rifling through the assorted envelopes, making repeated sounds of interest, in the hopes that this would give the man his cue to leave. "Good morning," Bilbo said once more, when it became rather obvious that his attempts at subtlety would not be taken, and started heading back into his home.

"To think that I should have lived to be "good morninged" by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door." The man said, following after him until he stood on the other side of the swinging wooden gate.

Bilbo paused, thoroughly confused as to how this man could know his mother's name, and speak it with such familiarity. "Beg your pardon?"

"You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins." The man continued on, as if Bilbo had not spoken.

Now the man spoke as he knew him as well as his mother. Where was this sense of familiarity and history coming from? Surely he'd remember meeting someone as… different as the man now standing before him. "I'm sorry, who are you?" He finally asked.

"Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf. And Gandalf means…" here the man, now identified as Gandalf, paused, for he didn't think it important that Bilbo Baggins knew the translation of his Quenya name in the common tongue. "…me."

"Gandalf?" Bilbo repeated, the name sounding familiar to him. Then he remembered where he'd heard the name, in the Shire not too long ago, in fact. "Not Gandalf the wandering wizard, who made such excellent fireworks? Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve." He only just managed to stop himself from gushing, for he remembered those fireworks fondly.

"No idea you were still in business."

"And where else should I be?" Gandalf asked rhetorically, throwing Bilbo off guard. After a few moments of stammering, Bilbo eventually settled on smoking his pipe in silence, waiting for Gandalf to speak.

"Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it's only my fireworks." Gandalf eventually stated with resignation. "Yes. Well, that's decided. It'll be very good for you… and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others." He declared with a grin tugging at his lips.

"Inform the who? What? No. No, no—wait." Bilbo rejected profusely, before quickly ascending the stone steps to his doorway. "We do not want _any_ adventures here, thank you. "Not today, not—not ever. I suggest you try over the hill, or across the water. Good morning."

And with those parting words, Gandalf watched as Bilbo retreated into his home and shut the door without looking back. Well, that wasn't going to be enough to change his mind. He stepped through the gate and up towards the door, bringing his staff to bear. Using a small portion sticking out of his staff near the bottom, no longer or thicker than a nail, he began carving in the rune, Fehu, which would alert the other twelve dwarves Thorin had managed to recruit, plus Harry, that they were to meet their burglar here.

It probably wouldn't hurt to tempt the dwarves with the promise of food. And lots of it.

He noticed Bilbo peeking out the window, in an attempt to see what he was doing, and moved over to stare back through the glass, sending the hobbit moving off in shock or fright. Perhaps a healthy mix of both. He couldn't have Bilbo removing his mark before the others arrived.

While he assumed that a majority of the company would want to stop off at Bree, to rest up after the journey, it was likely that a fair few would rather come directly to the meeting place. At best speed, both groups would make it here shortly after nightfall. It'd be faster if Harry could simply apparate them all here at once, but having never visited the Shire before, that was currently impossible, and suddenly Gandalf wished he'd brought his fellow wizard along.

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><p>There. To be honest, I wrote this on a whim. To test the waters, so to speak, and see if I've lost any of my aptitude for writing. As many of you will attest, it has been a <strong>long<strong> time since I've posted anything, so I need to be sure I don't disappoint.

You may have also noticed, that this chapter is substantially shorter, with only a little over 4K words, than many of my other chapters, which usually start off with at _least_ 7K words minimum. My friend has since told me, that I should let my chapters end naturally at a good stopping point, rather than try to force them to be longer and ruin the quality of what I've got.

So read and review, let me know what you guys think, and please point out any spelling or grammar mistakes you might see so I can correct them. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything concerning Harry Potter or The Hobbit in anyway.

Elven speech will be _in italics._

Black Speech will be written _**like this.**_

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><p>Bilbo couldn't help but lick his lips, as he scooped out the trout he had been cooking in the pan and placed it onto his plate with several freshly gathered carrots, spinach, and mashed potatoes. For a hobbit, it was a rather small portion, but after all this was supper. He'd had a much hardier meal for dinner not three hours prior.<p>

He had just tucked his napkin into his shirt, and was in the process of squeezing lemon juice onto his fish, when he was interrupted by his doorbell's chime. He frowned, wondering who would come to see him at such a late hour, but nevertheless set the lemon wedge down and stood up to check.

As soon as he opened the circular wooden door, he found himself staring at the cloaked back of a balding dwarf with a large nose, and a thick brown mustache that hung down over the top of his beard. "Dwalin, at your service." The dwarf introduced himself with a bow, though his eyes never left Bilbo's. They seemed to be scrutinizing him for some reason, silently judging him based on some unspoken criteria.

Remembering his manners, Bilbo tied the front of his robe together and gave a slight nod of the head. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours. Do we know each other?"

Dwalin grunted and stepped through the doorway without prompting, though paused right beside the hobbit for a moment. "No," he replied, his voice expressing how ridiculous the question sounded to him, as he moved past Bilbo and further into the home. "Which way, laddie? Is it down here?"

Is—Is what down where?" Bilbo asked in confusion.

"Supper," Dwalin answered, as if should be obvious. He took off his heavy coat and tossed it over to Bilbo to hang. "He said there'd be food and lots of it." Dwalin entered the next room and grinned at finding a plate already set out for him. Freshly cooked too, from the smell of it. He seated himself down at the table and started digging into the fish with his bare hands, tearing the meat from the bones with his teeth.

Bilbo hung the coat up beside the door and followed after the dwarf who had invited himself in and froze upon seeing his dinner being… devoured by this man. At this point, with his likely dirty fingers having already touched all the food, Bilbo saw no point in trying to claim the plate as his own. He certainly didn't want it back now. So he sat himself down in a chair by the fireplace and watched the dwarf eat.

Dwalin hummed in content, as he finished the last of the trout by simply biting the head off the body. "Mmm. Very good, this. Any more?"

Bilbo, having never seen anyone so apparently hungry as to eat without even using proper utensils, had been so focused on watching, that the dwarf's question hadn't registered for the first few seconds. "What? Oh yes, yes." He stood up and retrieved a plate of bread rolls he had baked himself that morning, and was about to offer the lot to Dwalin, but had the good sense to sneak one into his pocket first, after witnessing the dwarf's appetite. "Help yourself."

Dwalin was only too glad to do so, grabbing one of the rolls and stuffing the entire thing into his mouth. Bilbo wasn't sure if he was even chewing. "Hmm. It's just that, um, I wasn't expecting company," Bilbo stated delicately, only to freeze when the doorbell chimed again.

"That'll be the door," Dwalin remarked.

Bilbo sighed and left Dwalin to his eating, while he headed off to greet his newest visitor. He was only slightly surprised, upon opening it, to see another dwarf standing outside. This one appeared to be older, as the color of his hair and beard were both white, though the expression on his face was certainly a lot friendlier than Dwalin's had been.

"Balin, at your service," the dwarf greeted, bending low at the waist in a courteous bow.

"Good evening," Bilbo replied in a dry tone of voice, his manners beginning to stretch thin.

"Yes. Yes it is. Though I think it might rain later," Balin responded amicably. "Am I late?"

"Late for what?" Bilbo inquired.

He didn't receive an answer however, as Balin turned and spotted his fellow dwarf in the next room, quite literally, with his hand in the cookie jar. "Oh! Ha, ha! Evening, brother."

Dwalin turned and released a deep-throated chuckle at the sight of Balin, as he set the glass jar back down on the table. "You're shorter and wider than last we met," he joked, walking around to greet his elder brother.

"Wider, not shorter," Balin corrected. "And my wit is twice as sharp as you are tall," he quipped with a grin, as Dwalin set his hands down upon his shoulders. He reached up to clasp his hands on his younger brother's forearms, the both of them now chuckling fondly. They then slammed their heads into each other, and came away laughing.

"Uh, excuse me? Sorry, I hate to interrupt this um, fond family reunion, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house," Bilbo said, though his words were ignored as the pair of dwarves headed off into the pantry, leaving him no choice but to follow. There Bilbo found Dwalin already filling one of his hand-carved mugs, not done by him of course, with ale from the barrel he had purchased from Bree the month before.

"It's not that I don't like visitors. I like visitors as much as the next hobbit. But I do like to know them before they come… visiting." Bilbo stated, resting his fists upon his hips while trying to put a firm edge into his voice.

"What is this?" Dwalin asked, holding up a piece of food to Balin.

"I don't know. I think it's cheese. Gone blue," Balin pointed out, his gloved finger hovering over the smelly white lump.

"Bah. It's riddled with mold," Dwalin agreed, tossing it over his shoulder without hesitation.

"The thing is," Bilbo continued, "I don't know either of you. Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry." He finished, holding up his hands, hoping that the pair wouldn't take offense at his unwelcoming words.

Balin and Dwalin both paused in their rummaging for food, turning to face their host. They hadn't heard what he was apologizing for, but assumed that the blame lay at his hairy feet all the same, with no fault from them. "Apology accepted," Balin replied graciously. He turned back towards Dwalin, who was offering him the mug of ale, and shook his head. "Oh now fill it up, brother, don't stint."

Bilbo slowly turned around at the chime of his doorbell, a sound he was beginning to fear. With great reluctance, he opened the door and found himself looking at a pair of younger dwarves. The dwarf on the left had dark blonde hair, a relatively small beard, and a mustache that was braided at both ends. The dwarf on the right had dark brown hair, almost black in color, and was nearly devoid of facial hair, unlike the rest of his kin that Bilbo had seen tonight.

"Fili," said the blonde dwarf to introduced himself.

"And Kili." The darker haired dwarf added immediately after.

"At your service." They greeted simultaneously, sweeping into a bow. "You must be Mr. 'Boggins'." Kili said with a cheerful grin.

"Nope! You can't come in. You've come to the wrong house." Bilbo exclaimed, trying to shut the door on the pair, only to be stopped Kili, who undid all of Bilbo's efforts to seal the door with one push.

"Has it been canceled?" Kili asked in concern.

"No one told us," Fili interjected.

"Can—no, nothing's been canceled." What was going on here, Bilbo wondered. With every dwarf that arrived, he was getting a bigger sense of the situation. Dwalin had said that someone promised them lots of food. Balin had put forth that he might be late, meaning a pre-arranged time. And now these two can wondered if the meeting, for what else could it be, was canceled. So, now all he needed was to know who had set all this in motion.

"That's a relief." Kili smiled and pushed his way into the home, followed by Fili, who frowned slightly in confusion at the hobbit's misleading words and actions. "Careful with these. I just had them sharpened," he instructed, laying out a variety of swords and daggers in Bilbo's arms. More and more he pulled out, leaving the hobbit wondering where they were all coming from.

"It's nice, this place," Kili complimented. "Did you do it yourself?"

"What? No, it's been in the family for years," Bilbo answered politely. At least this dwarf seemed to have some manners, he thought, until he noticed Kili scraping the dirt from his shoes onto a special wooden box. "That's my mother's glory box. Can you please not do that?" He called out.

Dwalin, hearing the voices, stepped out of the pantry and wrapped an arm around Kili's shoulders. "Fili, Kili. Come on, give us a hand," he said, leading the younger dwarf into the dining room, where Balin greeted him with a nod.

"Shove this in the hallway, otherwise we'll never get everyone in."

"Everyone? How many more are there?" Bilbo demanded, not sure he'd heard Balin correctly. As if to answer his question, the doorbell chimed once more, alerting Bilbo to the arrival of more dwarves. "Oh no. No. No. There's nobody home!" He shouted, tossing down the pile of blades onto, ironically, his mother's glory box as he stomped his way over to the door.

"Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If this is some clot-head's idea of a joke, I can only say it is in very poor taste!" He finished, opening the door. Immediately a pile of dwarves fell into his home, eight of them, all scrambling to stand up, only to be pushed back down by another.

"Get off, you big lump!"

"Stop kicking my head, you idiot!"

"Let go of that!"

Bilbo looked away from the dwarves on his floor to the pair of men crouching down outside. "Gandalf," he sighed frustration. He might have known. The wizard didn't even look ashamed for setting these twelve dwarves upon him without warning. The man beside him however, offered him a slightly guilty smile, an unspoken apology.

This man was only a head shorter than Gandalf and had messy black hair and green eyes, a darker shade than anything found in the Shire. He wore a long black cloak that hung down past his knees, and sturdy-looking black boots made of some type of animal hide. In fact, the man's pants and jerkin seemed to be made of the same type of hide.

"I doubt anyone else has said it yet, or will, so on behalf of the company, I apologize for the intrusion." The man said, with a slight bow of his head. "My name is Hadrian. Hadrian Potter. I suppose it's a bit late now, but may we come in?"

Bilbo sighed, rubbing his forehead in consternation. Gandalf's presence here meant that his opinion on the subject probably mattered very little, or not at all. This man, on the other hand, seemed to have the courtesy and manners all twelve dwarves put together seemed to be lacking, for which he was rather grateful. "Yes, yes. Please, come on in."

"Thank you." Harry stepped through the doorway, over the dwarves, and into the dining room where the other four were trying to pull the table out so all of them could fit. "Here, allow me." He flicked his right hand, forcing the Elder Wand holstered on his forearm to descend into his waiting palm, and began casting expansion charms. This forced the walls back to increase the space within the room, without affecting the entire building as a whole. Once he was finished, the space around the table was wide enough for four dwarves to walk through side by side with ease.

After that, he proceeded to cast an engorgio on the wooden table, and conjured up extra wooden chairs, to make it suitable for sixteen people, though he didn't know for sure whether Bilbo would join them to eat. "Ah, much better." Harry commented, looking upon the results of his work with satisfaction. "Would any of you mind helping up the rest by the door? They can't stop fighting with each other long enough to stand up."

"I'll get them," Balin said with a sigh, knowing exactly what Hadrian was talking about. Stubborn was just the peak of the mountain when it came to dwarves.

"You know, when Gandalf said he was bringing another wizard, I didn't believe him," Kili admitted. "But that was real magic, wasn't it? What else can you do?"

Harry smiled, remembering that the majority of the world only knew magic through rumors and stories. Seeing it firsthand was probably unheard of, unless you were fortunate enough to have met Gandalf or the elves. "If I started going on about everything I could do, we'd never get to eat. You and the others start laying out the food, while I do some cleaning up. I can't imagine our host will appreciate the dirt and grime you lot have dragged in with you."

The following grin took away any hint of an insult in Harry's words. Kili nodded in reply, as he Fili, and Dwalin moved off into the pantry, followed shortly by the other eight dwarves, who all started grabbing food off the shelves and carried it over to the table.

Bilbo rounded the corner and met Hadrian, who was approaching him with a wooden stick held loosely in his right hand. "I'm sorry. I don't believe I got your name." He swept the wand over the hardwood floors, a scourgify spell ridding it of the dirty boot prints that had been tracked in, before using the reparo spell to fix the cracks in the wooden chest with the pile of blades stacked on top.

"I'm uh… ahem. Bilbo Baggins." He finally said, having been transfixed by the way Hadrian had effortlessly cleaned and repaired his floors and his mother's glory box respectively. "Are you… are you like Gandalf?"

"No one's like Gandalf," Harry replied with a smirk. He gave a parting nod of his head to Bilbo and headed back towards the dwarves moving back and forth between the pantry and the dining room.

Following after him, Bilbo came upon the sight of twelve dwarves, removing every piece of food he had stored inside the pantry; food he had bought to last him for the next month! "E-Excuse me that's my chicken! Um, if you don't mind—that's my wine! Excuse me!" Bilbo finally yelled, stopping a dwarf by the elbow.

The dwarf said something in another language, dwarvish, presumably, and pointed to an axe head embedded in his own forehead, before moving on to set the wine down at the table.

"That's Bifur. He's got an injury." Bilbo turned around to meet a gray-bearded dwarf, who had felt the need to state the obvious to him.

"You mean the axe in his head?" He replied sarcastically.

"Dead?" The dwarf asked, sticking an ear trumpet into his right ear to hear Bilbo properly. "No, only between his ears. His legs work fine." He strolled right past the dumbfounded hobbit carrying a basket containing freshly picked apples and pears.

Bilbo threw up his hands in frustration and decided to try and talk to Gandalf about all this, when he saw what had been done to his dining room. It was now as big as three rooms combined. "H-How…?"

"Ah, Bilbo, my old friend!" Gandalf moved over to guide the hobbit into the dining room, and helped him sit down in one of the conjured chairs. "Yes, quite impressive, isn't it? We have Hadrian to thank for this impressive display of magic. Even one as old as myself can still find things to surprise me."

Bilbo shifted his attention away from Gandalf and over to the man, who was regaling several of the dwarves with a story. Now very curious about this… young wizard, he scooted his chair closer to listen in.

"… and then once the dragon had broken free of his chain, and followed me up into the air, I curved around it on my broom and made a mad dash for her egg clutch. She gave me a good hit across the shoulder with her tail, but I managed to grab the golden egg and escape without any further injury."

Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and Gloin all let out a raucous cheer at the conclusion of the tale, banging their hands on the table and stomping their feet.

"You didn't kill the dragon?" Fili asked.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Of course not. At the time, I was still a young boy, with only a basic grasp of magic. I felt lucky enough to have gotten away alive. There was no way I'd ever think about killing the horntail, even if it weren't there just for the tournament. However, I _did_ manage to kill a large snake only two years prior to this. _And_ I did it _without_ magic."

Dwalin scoffed good-naturedly. "What's so impressive about that? _I_ can kill a snake without magic!"

Harry raised an eyebrow in amusement. "A sixty foot serpent that can kill with a single glance of its eyes, and venom deadlier than any acid or poison?"

The four dwarves went silent at this revelation, and a grudging light of respect appeared in Dwalin's eyes. "Fair enough, laddie. How'd you kill such a beast, if not by magic, then?"

Harry smirked and leaned in, building up the suspense. "With a sword."

"Ha, ha! Now this sounds like a tale worth hearing!" Gloin shouted, punctuating his statement with a slam of his hand onto the table.

Harry quickly began telling them the story of his second year, leaving out anything entirely unrelated to the diary or the chamber, and even went so far as to stress that Ginny's involvement was entirely unwilling. Thankfully the dwarves readily agreed, calling the work of the diary "dark sorcery" to which she had fallen victim. He led them through the warning from Dobby, the attacks which started with Filch's cat, the meeting with Aragog, Hermione's last clue, and the encounter with Tom Marvolo Riddle, A.K.A Voldemort.

"That black-hearted scum, abusing the trust of Ginny like that!" Kili then let loose a stream of dwarven words directed at Voldemort that probably weren't very flattering.

"Trust me, that wasn't the worst thing he's ever done, though it is probably in the top ten. Anyways, I had foolishly tossed aside my wand, and Voldemort was now keeping it away from me. All I had left was the old hat Fawkes had brought me, so when that basilisk came out, I started running." Harry continued, drawing more and more dwarves, who had almost completely emptied the pantry by now, in to listen.

"I made sure to keep my eyes closed, so I didn't succumb to its stare, but as a result, I tripped and fell to the wet, stone floor. As you might imagine, I thought that was the end of it, until I heard the piercing cry from Fawkes."

"What good is a bird against a king of serpents?" Gloin dismissed.

"See, that's what I thought at first," Harry agreed. "A noble and beautiful bird Fawkes may be, but it didn't seem like a particularly dangerous one either. That was until I found that it had blinded the basilisk, taking away one of its most deadly weapons. Of course, it was still more than large enough to swallow me whole, if it wanted. So, in desperation, I put on the sorting hat and pleaded for someone to help me. And that's when a sword fell out and conked me in the head."

Finally, a mention of a real weapon, something the dwarves could relate to, unlike all the talk of magic. They made Harry describe the sword's appearance in great detail, and Harry was forced to rely more on the memories from his horcrux hunt, rather than his time in the chamber. After he had given the dwarves a thorough mental image of the finely-crafted blade, wisely leaving out that it was goblin-made, he resumed his story.

"The basilisk was trying to strike me upon the statue's head, smashing through the stone without any sign of injury. As it reared back for a particularly fast lunge, I pulled my arm back and stabbed the sword of Godric Gryffindor straight through its mouth and up into its brain, thus killing the king of serpents."

Bilbo was shocked to find himself cheering along with the other twelve dwarves, who hadn't even started eating yet, out of respect for Harry's tale. He wasn't even aware that they'd finished bringing out all the food.

"He has a way with words, doesn't he?" Gandalf asked from his left, smoking a pipe filled with Old Toby, another thing he'd failed to notice whilst captivated by Hadrian's story.

"Yes, he does. Is it true?" Bilbo inquired.

Gandalf suddenly developed quite a serious expression around his pipe and leaned forward to stare into Bilbo's eyes. "All of it. And I would suggest you not ask anything of that sort to, or about, Hadrian again. He is normally a very calm and friendly man, but he absolutely detests being accused of lying."

Bilbo nodded in understanding, watching as Harry was showing off a circular scar on his right arm, apparently where the basilisk had pierced him with a fang, only for Fawkes the phoenix to heal him with its tears.

* * *

><p>The comfortable atmosphere Hadrian had built up with his stories, was immediately destroyed, as Bilbo was forced to watch the dwarves shouting, throwing food, and making a horrendous mess of his dining room. He only just managed to duck his head in time to avoid a thrown tomato, which splattered against the wall.<p>

"Excuse me, mister Potter, may I tempt you with a cup of chamomile?"

"Yes, please, Dori. It's been far too long since I've had a good cup of tea." Harry said, as he gratefully took the proffered cup, and sighed happily after the hot, soothing liquid had passed down his throat. "Thank you, Dori. It's the best I've had in a long time."

"Oh, you're very welcome, mister Potter. And for you, mister Gandalf," asked the dwarf, whose gray beard was braided into a fine, silver case.

"Oh, no, thank you, Dori. A little red wine for me, I think." Gandalf replied to the dwarf sitting across from him. He then scanned the heads currently sitting at the table and began counting them out, pointing to each dwarf in turn as he named them. "Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Kili, Fili, Ori, Nori, Dori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, hmm…we seem to be one dwarf short. Hadrian, did you happen to see—?"

"No," Harry said, cutting Gandalf off. "He hasn't been back to Bree since that first meeting."

"He's late is all," Dwalin informed the pair of wizards sitting over to his right, just on the other side of Oin. "He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come," he finished without absolute certainty.

"Mister Gandalf?" Dori asked, having waited patiently until the others had finished talking before he spoke. "A little glass of red wine, as requested. It's uh, got a fruity bouquet." He handed over a small glass filled with the dark red wine to Gandalf, who accepted it immediately.

To Harry, it looked no bigger than a common shot glass, which may have been why Gandalf down the contents in a single gulp. He looked pleasantly surprised with the taste, lending credence to Dori's description. He was the sole dwarf amongst the company who toed the line towards refined.

"So, Hadrian, have you ever used magic to heal someone?" Oin asked the man sitting to his right, making sure to keep his ear trumpet in place. He wouldn't want to miss anything.

"Well, I've used simple spells to treat minor injuries, but I never learned or studied really intensive medical magic. I mostly rely on my supply of potions to take care of anything really serious." Harry replied, after a moment's thought.

"Potions, you say?" Oin asked in interest. "I don't suppose you'd mind showing me some later, would you? I've got my own bit of medicine that I created from herbs and things I could find." He started digging through a leather satchel hanging from his hip and pulled out a small, silver container, about as big as his palm. He opened it up to reveal the strong smelling yellow medicine contained inside.

"It's halfway between a liniment and a cream," Oin described proudly, as he showed off the result of his work to the wizard. "Good for bruises, cuts, and scrapes, don't you know?"

Harry peered over and had to hold back a wince at the powerful medicinal scent. "What, you mean like an ointment?"

"Oin… tment? Ointment…" Oin repeated, testing the word to see how it sounded. A moment later, a wide grin appeared on his face. "Ooh, I rather like that. Comes from my name, I take it? Would you mind if I—?"

"It's all yours," Harry replied, cutting him off. He had to hold back a laugh as he watched Oin turn to Dwalin and happily showed off the medicine, now named after himself. He found it rather amusing that he'd played a small part in bringing 'ointment' to Middle-Earth.

"So you know all of these dwarves, I take it?"

Harry turned around to look at Bilbo seated on his right, with Gandalf and himself bordering the hobbit on either side. "I know their names, but I don't know all of them personally, yet. If you have trouble remembering their names, treat it like a game. See how fast you can say them all, without screwing up."

Bilbo shook his head. "No, it's not that I'm having trouble with their names. It's that, well, I can't quite picture someone like you with… them," he said, gesturing with his hands towards Kili, Fili, Nori, and Ori who had chugged down their ales and were now having a belching contest, which Ori decisively won with one that lasted nearly five seconds.

"I knew you had it in you!" Bofur congratulated, smacking Ori on the back.

"Of course you knew he had it in him. You just saw him drink it!" Nori retorted with a laugh.

Harry's lips turned up in a grin and quietly sipped his tea, all the while refusing to answer Bilbo, which he knew was starting to incense him a bit. "And who should someone like me be spending their time around?"

"I—I don't know! Someone with class, and manners, and etiquette, perhaps?" Bilbo replied, trying to come up with a suitable answer that wouldn't offend Hadrian.

"I couldn't care less about those things," Harry instantly rejected, stunning Bilbo. "My best friend of many years ate like a pig, practically shoveling any bit of food he could reach into his mouth. _And_ he would still try to hold a conversation with you while his cheeks bulged like a squirrel's."

"B-But you were polite, and respectful, and you cleaned up after them!" Bilbo protested, trying to deny that Hadrian would approve of their actions.

"I don't hold others to my standards or preferences, Master Baggins. And I should hope others feel the same way about me," Harry explained patiently, as he stood up and took both his plate and teacup down the hall towards the kitchen to clean.

Bilbo sighed and turned to Gandalf. "Gandalf you still haven't told me what these dwarves are doing in my house."

"Oh, they're quite a merry gathering once you get used to them," Gandalf dismissed cheerfully.

"I don't want to get used to them!" Bilbo protested, as he stood up and pulled Gandalf by the arm out into the hallway. "Look at all the mud they've tracked into the carpet, despite Hadrian's efforts to keep them clean. My pantry has been completely ransacked, and you don't want to know what they've done in the bathroom. They've all but ruined the plumbing. So. please tell me what they're doing in my house!" He demanded in frustration.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt," Ori, the youngest member of the company, interjected, "but what should I do with my plate?" He asked rather innocently.

"Here you go, Ori. Give it to me." Fili took the plate from his hands and tossed it down the hall towards his brother, who caught it in the air with his right hand and tossed it around his back, only to repeat the action with the second platter Fili tossed him. Both were then caught by Bifur and held out to Harry, who grinned and hit both with a scourgify, and gently set them aside.

Bilbo thought he was going to have a heart attack, as he watched the two dwarf siblings throwing dish after dish, and cup after cup down the hall without hesitation. What if they missed? What if one of them threw too hard? "E-Excuse me! That's my mother's West Farthing pottery. It's over 100 years old!" He yelped in distress. He made strangled hissing sound as he watched Fili bouncing one of his bowls up and down off his elbows, before finally knocking it into the kitchen. He would've let out a sigh of relief at the lack of a shattering sound, had it not been for the sounds of stomping and metal clinging back in the dining room.

"And can you—can you not do that? You'll blunt them!" Bilbo shouted over the noise at the still seated dwarves, who were stomping their boots and clanging the knives against each other.

"Ooh, do you hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives," Bofur, the dwarf wearing a hat with large earflaps, mocked.

Kili, still tossing dishes into the kitchen, laughed and started singing in tune to the beat his fellow dwarves were now providing.

"Blunt the knives,

bend the forks!"

"Smash the bottles,

and burn the corks!" Fili sang, rolling a plate along his shoulder blades, before flicking it off his fingertips into the kitchen.

"Chip the glasses

And crack the plates," the other dwarves added in with grins.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" They chorused in unison.

"Cut the cloth,

Tread on the fat,

Leave the bones

on the bedroom mat.

Pour the milk on the pantry floor,

Splash the wine on every door!"

By now, Gandalf had flattened himself against the wall to avoid the flying dishware, laughing along with the song. Each plate that soared into the kitchen was perfectly caught, and quickly cleaned by Harry's magic, before being banished back out towards another dwarf who would then pass it on to be stacked.

"Dump the crocks

in a boiling bowl,

Pound them up

with a thumping pole,

When you're finished

if they are whole…

Send them down the hall to roll!" The dwarves had gotten into the full swing of things, with several having pulled out instruments to play in accompaniment, though Oin had opted to use a teapot as a makeshift flute.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" They finished, with boisterous laughter. Bilbo, near to his breaking point, managed to push his way through to the table, only to stop upon seeing several neat stacks of clean, intact plates, cups, and bowls. There wasn't a crumb or crack on any of them. He glanced up at Hadrian who, with a knowing smirk, vanished the last of the crumbs from the floor, leaving Bilbo's dining room as spotless as it had been before the meal.

Their merriment was cut short, however, at the sound of three distinct thumps upon the front door. All laughter, indeed all sound, was cut off immediately, as the fourteen of them knew what that meant. It was Gandalf who eventually put it into words though.

"He is here."

* * *

><p>"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Balin asked, once Thorin had been introduced to Bilbo, who he deemed "more like a grocer than a burglar".<p>

"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms." Thorin confirmed, drawing sounds of approval from the rest of the company. None of them had expected all of the other kingdoms to send representatives.

"And what did they dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" Dwalin pressed.

Thorin heaved a heavy sigh, before meeting the eyes of every dwarf around him. "They will not come," he announced. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo asked from where he was standing, just behind Gandalf and Hadrian, who were seated to Thorin's left. He couldn't deny that the much more spacious dining room was a huge benefit, and he wouldn't mind at all if Hadrian left it this way permanently.

"Quite an important one, actually," Gandalf confirmed, pulling out a folded up piece of parchment from within his robe's sleeve. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak." He laid out the parchment, not revealed to be a map, onto the table before him, for all to see.

"The Lonely Mountain…" Bilbo read out over Hadrian's shoulder.

"Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." Gloin declared.

Oin nodded solemnly, confirming Gloin's words. "Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold. 'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end," he recited; the prophecy that all of them had heard, and never forgotten.

"Uh, what beast?" Bilbo couldn't help but ask.

Bofur took it upon himself to answer the hobbit's question. "Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age." At the lack of comprehension on Bilbo's face, Bofur realized he needed to be a _bit_ more specific. "Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals."

"A dragon, basically." Harry helpfully supplied.

"Yes, I got that, thank you Hadrian." Bilbo put forth rather quickly. His face had been growing more and more pale with each word Bofur said.

"I'm not afraid! I'm up for it!" Ori boldly proclaimed, as he leapt to his feet. "I'll give him a taste of dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"

"Good lad, Ori!" Nori cried out.

"You'll do no such thing," Dori said, pulling his younger brother back down. Ori looked up to Nori a bit too much in his opinion, and damned if he wasn't going to try and stop Ori from following after that foolhardy thief.

Balin shook his head negatively. "The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest," he added for good measure. Predictably, cries of outrage erupted from the gathered dwarves, with each proclaiming their skill or intelligence.

"We may be few in number," Fili granted, with a slam of his fist to shut the other dwarves up. "But we're fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf!"

"And you forget we have not one, but _two_ wizards in our company!" Kili reminded them excitedly. "One of which, has killed the king of serpents with naught but a sword! If Hadrian managed to do that at the age of twelve, then Gandalf must have killed _hundreds_ of dragons in his time!"

"Oh, well, no. I wouldn't say—"

How many, then?" Dori asked eagerly.

"What?" Gandalf responded.

"Well, how many dragons have you killed?"

Harry couldn't help but smirk, as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face his fellow wizard smugly. "Yes, Gandalf, How many dragons _have_ you killed? One? Two? A dozen? _Two_ dozen? Fifty?" He was fully aware of how excited the others were getting as he kept upping the number, while the look on Gandalf's face grew more and more irritated. In fact, he released a stream of elvish in Harry's direction that had the man laughing in delight at his ability to bring Gandalf to such a point.

"What's this I hear about you killing a king of serpents, Hadrian?" Thorin inquired, with an interested and amused look on his face. "And with a sword, no less?"

"Get the story from someone else later," Harry dismissed. "Telling it again so soon after the first would diminish its impact."

"Aye, that's true."

"It was pretty amazing to hear the first time."

"I could practically picture that snake dying, with Hadrian's sword jammed up into its noggin!"

"Speaking of swords, may I inspect the pair hanging from your hip, Hadrian?" Thorin requested. His words drew all eyes onto Harry, the dwarves only just realizing that Harry was carrying swords on him. How had they not noticed before?

"I was wondering if you'd ask, after having glimpsed them in the Prancing Pony," Harry remarked, as he slid the two blades off of his belt and set them on the table. The sheaths were made of black ebony wood, and capped off at both ends with mithril, of all things. Both had their hilts wrapped in black leather, and of the two blades, one of them had a gleaming sapphire embedded in the top of the pommel, and a diamond on both the front and back. The other blade had a pommel engraved with the design of a tree, growing and spreading out on the triangular pommel, with a small moon shining light through the branches, though it lacked any gems to match its sister.

"Elven blades," Balin observed knowledgeably.

"But, why have they got mithril on them, then?" Ori asked.

"Once, we dwarves were on friendly terms with the elves," Balin replied softly, staring at the swords with a new hint of reverence. "The doors of Khazad-dum themselves were built with the cooperation of the two peoples. Trade between them was common, so I do believe, that these were crafted when mithril was freely provided to the elves."

"You know your history, Master Balin," Harry acknowledged.

"If you're going to be taught to hate someone, you should at least make sure you know why," Balin stated in response.

Thorin drew one of the swords, much more accepting of them now that he knew dwarves had played a part in their forging. They were single-edged swords, with a straight spine, a small spike two inches above the guard, and only a slight curve near the tip. And, unlike many other elven blades, these did not expand out near the tip; they remained narrow along the entire length.

"Very impressive. The mithril makes them light, but no less sturdy or deadly. They were… made rather well," Thorin praised, albeit reluctantly, as he sheathed the swords and passed them back to Hadrian. "I assume you know how to use them?"

"Of course," Harry insisted, taking no offense from the question. "The elves may make a lot of jewelry and decorative pieces, but they make weapons meant to last in battle. I would not be carrying them unless I could make good use of them."

"Bah. Who'd want an elvish sword when you could be carrying some solid dwarfish steel into a fight?" Dwalin asked rhetorically, pulling the twin axes off his back and setting them down. The axes had long shafts and flat blades. The rear side of each blade could be utilized for smashing, and their pointed shape left no doubt in Harry's mind that they could cave in a skull with one blow.

"As impressive as they are, Master Dwalin, I am hardly the most muscular of men. I haven't the strength necessary to wield anything like these."

"Ah, fair enough. I suppose those swords suit you as well as Grasper and Keeper suit me," Dwalin conceded.

"Grasper and Keeper?" Harry repeated with a grin.

Dwalin matched his grin and held up both axes in his hands. "Aye. This one will grasp your soul," he declared, raising the axe in his right hand. "And this one keeps it!" He shouted, raising the left.

Thorin allowed the dwarves their moment to laugh at Dwalin's well known boast about his axes, but they did come here for a reason. He shouted in khuzdul, and they instantly became silent in respect. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors… have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing… wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected," Thorin said with a scowl, staring each one of his brothers in the eye.

"Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance, to take back Erebor?" The dwarves began cheering, in agreement, for they would not let anyone claim what was rightfully theirs, what their people had fought and died to protect. The blood of their people filled that mountain, and they would take it back, if only to honor the memory of those who'd passed.

"You forget, the front gate is sealed," Balin interrupted, effectively putting a damper on the good mood. "There is no way into the mountain," he regrettably informed them.

Gandalf coughed into his fist, garnering all attention upon himself. "That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." From within his sleeve, Gandalf procured a dark, iron key, spinning it dramatically between his fingers until he held it up for them to see.

Thorin's eyes locked upon the object immediately. A relic of his people, of his home. "How came you by this?" He whispered in awe.

"It was given to me by your father. By Thrain. For safekeeping," Gandalf answered, passing the key over to Thorin. "It is yours now."

Thorin took the key, staring at it intently, as if unable to believe something like it could actually exist. In fact, he would probably have been content to stare at it all night, if he hadn't been snapped out of his thoughts.

"If there is a key, there must be a door," Fili proposed.

Gandalf nodded, and motioned with the end of his pipe towards the map. There, on the left-hand side, was a long string of runes written in faded red ink, an indication of their age. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls."

"There's another way in." Kili said, wrapping an arm around his brother, both now sporting matching grins.

"I believe so, yes, but the problem lies in finding it, for dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gandalf responded, with a heavy sigh. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But, there are others in Middle-Earth who can," he stated.

Harry raised an eyebrow and turned towards Gandalf. _"You're speaking about Lord Elrond, aren't you?"_

"_Yes,"_ Gandalf admitted, knowing that to imply otherwise would only insult Harry's intelligence and familiarity with the ruler of Rivendell.

"_They will never agree to this," _Harry warned quite seriously. While Lord Elrond would likely welcome them with open arms and friendliness, getting the dwarves to willingly head to an elven outpost was nigh impossible.

"_They will never know until we arrive,"_ Gandalf retorted, and thankfully Harry allowed the matter to drop. He knew full well that only Lord Elrond would possess the knowledge and ability to decipher whatever secret was hidden within the map.

"Now then, the task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage," Gandalf said, glancing briefly at Bilbo. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"_Gandalf, if that's all you need, then I can easily accomplish the task. There's no need to endanger the halfling for this,"_ Harry remarked.

"_Smaug is quite familiar with the scent of men. You would be detected almost instantly, and I would like to avoid waking the dragon if at all possible,"_ Gandalf countered. _"Also, this is not just for the company's benefit, but for Bilbo's as well."_

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori exclaimed in realization.

"Hmm. And a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine," Bilbo chimed in, no longer examining the map in silence. All eyes turned to Bilbo, and Harry had to repress a groan.

"And are you?" Gloin asked.

"Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert!" Oin cheered.

Bilbo finally understood just what it was that he had insinuated, and had to work quickly to clear up the misunderstanding. "Me? No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen anything in my life!" He protested.

"Well I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material," Balin dismissed.

Rather than take offense, Bilbo readily agreed with the dwarf. Anything to avoid following these blasted dwarves to some mountain taken over by a dangerous dragon.

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentle fold who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin stated, looking upon Bilbo as if he was a common villager, who would normally need to be protected in an attack, rather than contribute in any way to the killing of the enemies.

Several of the other dwarves, such as Kili, Fili, Ori, Oin, Bombur, and Nori disagreed, and soon an argument erupted at the table over whether Bilbo should join them or not. The majority however, thought the same as Balin and Dwalin, and it began to seem as if the dwarves would dissolve into violence at this difference of opinion.

"Enough! If I say **Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is!**" Gandalf shouted over the din in the room, as he stood to full height and made his presence, his _true_ presence, known. No one dared speak, and several of the dwarves had backed up against the seat so hard that they nearly toppled over. While outwardly, Harry had remained stoic and calm, on the inside he was intimidated. He'd never experienced this sensation before, but it was extraordinarily frightening, as if he were but an insect compared to Gandalf.

Gandalf calmed himself after a few moments and took his seat again, now confident that his decision to include Bilbo would be respected. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they so choose."

"They have magic?" Harry asked with interest.

"No, they exploit the arrogance of others, who tend to avoid taking notice of anyone deemed lesser," Gandalf replied. "And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, and man, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You granted me the right to select the fifteenth member of this company, Thorin Oakenshield, and I have chosen mister Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer than **any** of you know… including himself."

Thorin sighed and stared long and hard at Gandalf, the wizard who had given him a map, a key, and a hope of entering Erebor again, something he'd long thought impossible. If he wanted to bring the hobbit along, then so be it. "Very well, we will do it your way. Balin, give mister Baggins and Hadrian their contracts."

Balin pulled out two folded pieces of paper and handed one each to Bilbo and Hadrian. "It's just the usual: summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo muttered faintly.

Thorin stood up and leaned over to Gandalf, his head right beside the wizard's. "I cannot guarantee his safety," he warned.

"Understood," Gandalf whispered. He hadn't really been expecting Thorin to do so anyways.

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate," Thorin promised.

That was a bit of a problem. But Harry wouldn't mind watching over the hobbit when he wasn't out scouting ahead, and during those times, he could watch over Bilbo himself. No, it was more the apathy in Thorin's voice, that disturbed Gandalf the most. "Agreed."

Harry unfolded the contract and read over each line and word carefully, not that he suspected these dwarves of anything, but goblin contracts had soured the damn things for him. "…cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fifteenth of total profit, if any." Harry couldn't help but whistle. That was quite a bit. Not that he was doing this for money, no he'd help them for free if they asked, but one never knew when an extra bit of pocket gold would come in handy.

He wondered what it said about him, that he hadn't even batted an eye whilst reading the possible ways Smaug could kill him, and immediately signed his name at the bottom and handed it back. "Hope you can read it. I always did have chicken scratch for handwriting."

Balin inspected the signature, which was indeed written quite messily, with a golden-framed set of magnifying lenses, and nodded in satisfaction. Better to have a steady sword hand, than a noble's wrist. "Everything seems to be in order. Welcome, Master Potter, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"Happy to be aboard," Harry replied with a smile. It was at that moment that Bilbo had fainted with the contract in his hand. He didn't need to think too hard about which part of the contract Bilbo had focused on, apparently not helped by Bofur's added commentary.

"Oh, very helpful, Bofur." Gandalf groused.

* * *

><p>It took several moments the next morning, as Bilbo was waking up, to remember that he'd had a host of dwarves and two wizards in his home the previous night. He cautiously and quietly got out of his bed and started walking through his house, worried that they might still be here, and that any noise on his behalf would have them asking to join their quest once more.<p>

As he crept down the hallway, he noticed that his house had been cleaned, completely bereft of any sign of mud, dirt, or grime that the dwarves had brought in; Hadrian's work, no doubt. "Hello? Hadrian? Gandalf?" He called out, but received no response. It soon became clear that the entire group had vacated his home sometime in the night, after he'd excused himself to sleep, for all of them had been awake by the fireplace telling stories and singing a song of their home when he'd left them.

The dining room had been restored to its proper size, something he was actually a bit disappointed with now. He would've loved to show it off to several people in particular. As he approached the kitchen window, he was greeted by the light of the sun, shining down upon the Shire, a beautiful sight to be sure, but it emphasized something quite clearly: the world outside his hobbit hole was extraordinary.

Glancing down at his kitchen table, he noticed the unsigned contract was still there, right where he had left it. Signed by Thorin, son of Thrain. Witnessed by Balin, son of Fundin. The burglar's signature was left blank.

Gandalf… was right. He wouldn't get to truly experience the beauty of Middle-Earth by re-reading his dusty tomes, or poring over his old, outdated maps. He'd have to go out and see it for himself. And who better than a burglar to do it?

He ran towards his bedroom to change and get packed s rapidly as he could. They couldn't have gotten too far, not with fifteen of them moving as a group. He'd be able to catch them with an hour at max. He dressed himself in a burgundy coat, white cotton shirt, and beige trousers, and grabbed his sleeping role, a blanket, and everything else he'd thought he'd need for a long journey.

Bilbo's last act, was to grab his quill and jot his name down on the contract, before dashing out of his home and through the Shire. He actually leapt over part of the fence and ran down the grassy hill, rather than take the road to save himself some time. He received quite a few strange looks, as he ran through someone's garden, leapt over a wheelbarrow holding a prize-winning pumpkin, no doubt, all the way down towards the main road out of the Shire.

"Hey, mister Bilbo, where are you off to?"

"Can't stop, I'm already late, mister Worrywort!" Bilbo called back over his shoulder as he passed by the farmer who frequently sold him fresh tubers for low prices.

"Late for what?"

"I'm going on an adventure!" Bilbo shouted gleefully, as he sprinted out of the Shire, leaving home behind, and heading for the world ahead.

* * *

><p>And that's chapter two done.<p>

Someone asked me whether I'd be downplaying his magic to show off his swordsmanship, and the answer is no. I'll be using both a lot. The magic will be taking enemies from afar, and when, or if, they get too close, that's when Harry will bring out the swords.

I was worried that this chapter seemed to drag on, but I considered everything I put in important in some way, and I _especially_ wanted to start giving you a sense of what each dwarf's personality was like, or at least a good few.

Anyways, as always, read and review, tell me what you think, and point out any spelling or grammar mistakes for me to fix, please. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything concerning Harry Potter or The Hobbit in anyway.

I've seen people wondering why I've been reinforcing the point that Harry is weaker than Gandalf, if he's the Master of Death. The short answer is because he _is_ weaker.

Gandalf, Saruman, Radagast, they're all Maiar, only a step down from the Valar, the 'gods' in this world. That being said, I have little doubt Harry _might_ be able to come away the victor in a fight with, let's say, Radagast, but certainly not with ease, nor unscathed.

* * *

><p>"Go on, Hadrian. Let's see it with two now."<p>

Harry grinned, taking the coin Nori offered him and set it atop the curled index finger of his left hand, matching the one on the right, and snapped both into the air with his thumb. His eyes tracked the spinning silver circles without difficulty, and he quickly snatched up both before they had fallen past his chin.

The impressed cheers from Ori, Nori, Gloin, Kili, and Fili came out almost sounding like wheezing coughs, for all their attempt to keep themselves quiet. The rest of the company was asleep atop the cliff where they were camping for the night, save Gandalf who was puffing on his pipe, and Thorin, who volunteered to keep watch for the first few hours.

For the demonstration that Hadrian was giving them, Gloin was willing to hand over a pair of gold coins this time. Harry, now with two silver coins on his left hand and two gold on his right, launched the coins up and caught them in their correct hands, one by one, with only the faintest clink to confirm his success.

"That's incredible," Kili muttered, having tried to keep track of them through the air, but had difficulty discerning the gold from silver in the darkness. "How did you do that?"

Harry chuckled and reset the coins atop his hands, allowing Nori and Gloin to place another coin on each stack. "Back in my… homeland, there was a sport that wizards played called Quidditch. The details are unimportant, save that my role was known as a seeker, and that my job was to search for and capture a flying gold ball, faster than any bird or insect you could imagine. After doing that for about five years, give or take a few weeks or months, my eyes got quite good at tracking small things through the air. They've… only gotten better since then. My hands, however, had to move fast enough to match the instruction I received from Lord Elrond, who taught me how to wield my swords."

Flicking his thumbs, Harry put the coins into motion. Six went up, and six came down, the correct three caught in each hand. Harry even took one of the coins and had it spinning on his fingertip for a few seconds, before letting it fall back into his palm.

"Hands of a true swordsman, he's got," Fili praised. Even on his best day, he didn't believe he could replicate the masterful feat.

"Let's cut right to the end then, shall we? Five and five," Gloin declared, setting two more coins on each stack, now reset and ready to go once again. The five dwarves hunched down, staring intently at Harry's hands. Gloin and Nori believed this time he'd fail in the attempt, while Kili and Fili had no doubts that Hadrian would catch them all correctly. Ori didn't really care; he just enjoyed watching.

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, then snapped the coins up. He sorted them out quickly enough, discerning the silver from the gold almost immediately. The first two were caught easily by his hands, but Harry could tell that the scattering pattern of the rest wouldn't drop them so readily in line.

The only way the dwarves could describe it, was that Harry had exploded into action, spinning a complete circle, with his hands an indecipherable blur of motion. Then he straightened suddenly and stood upright before them. His hands were in fists at his sides, and a neutral expression lay on his face.

The five dwarves exchanged glances with each other, none of them quite sure of what had just happened. Harry held out his fists to the dwarves and slowly opened them, a smug grin slowly developing on his face.

Five coins in each hand.

Kili blew out an impressed whistle, prodding the stacks aside to confirm that all the gold and all the silver were in one stack, and nodded to the others in confirmation.

"Hands of a true swordsman," Gloin echoed Fili's earlier words. "Aye, he's a fighter, and I'm out of coins."

"How many can you do?" Ori whispered in amazement.

"How many coins have you got?" Harry retorted confidently. While the original wager had promised the coins to him, should he catch them, Harry nonetheless returned them all to Nori, and Gloin. "If we've got to cover our own out-of-pocket expenses, it would help if you still had something in your pockets, don't you think?"

The duo who'd just had their money returned chuckled good-naturedly, and stowed the money away before finally heading off to sleep. Ori wanted to stay up, but he eventually listened to Nori's advice that he rest up for the traveling they'd be doing tomorrow. Or it may have been the promise that the rest would laugh at him if he fell from his pony due to exhaustion.

As soon a Bilbo had come running up to them on the road two weeks ago, signed contract in hand, the completed company had made full haste on the road. They traveled for many hours, stopped for meals only when someone started complaining, then traveled for as many more as the day's light would allow. Sometimes they cautiously slowed their pace; other times, the company pushed their ponies and horses to their limits, depending on whether or not they perceived danger in the area. Harry was frequently about, yet rarely seen, the young wizard eagerly assuming his role as the group's forward scout, though only Gandalf was aware of his animagus form so far.

Harry's thoughts were suddenly disturbed by the sounds of guttural screeching in the valley far below their rocky perch. "What was that?"

"Orcs, no doubt," Kili answered, catching Thorin's attention, and bringing the leader of the company to full alert. Whatever fatigue he'd been feeling before, was now completely and utterly banished, all from that one word.

"There'll be dozens of them out there," Fili put forth. "The lone-lands are crawling with them."

Kili locked eyes with Hadrian, who was walking back from his position by the ledge to sit beside the two brothers. He'd been told about orcs by both Lord Elrond and Gandalf, but had never actually seen them before. What he already knew, suggested their penchant for murder and cruelty would make a death eater wince.

"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams," Kili described softly. "Just lots of blood."

Harry frowned as he glanced over his shoulder at the cliff once more. "You mean there are orcs down there, attacking people right now?"

"A night raid is no mere attack, Hadrian." Thorin said seriously, as he stood up from the rock he'd been sitting on and stalked over to the edge. "It is a slaughter of the innocent. A spilling of blood done for the sake of amusement. They leave none alive, down to the last woman and child."

"There are orcs wandering the lone-lands, but there are no farms or settlements to attack down there," Gandalf assured his friend. If he hadn't, he was sure that Harry would have rushed down there without a second thought and hunted them down alone.

"Even if there were, it's not as if I could stop them all myself," Harry protested, as he moved back to sit beside the gray wizard, shaking his head at the offer to share the pipe. While he had no qualms about having the occasional drink or two, he had never taken to smoking like Gandalf. Though, if he ever _did_ decide to smoke, he'd choose Longbottom Leaf solely for the irony.

"But you'd still try, wouldn't you?" Gandalf asked knowingly. After their many years of friendship, Gandalf knew Harry well enough to predict _exactly_ how he would react or think in regards to many situations.

He had met the younger wizard approximately seventeen years ago, when Harry was residing with—and being taught by—Lord Elrond, as a welcome guest of Rivendell. Gandalf still remembered sitting in on the afternoon lessons, when Lord Elrond would teach Harry Sindarin, using the common speech of Middle-Earth as a medium. The elven ruler proved to be a fine teacher, and Harry picked up the language quickly enough, even learning to read and write the elvish language. By the beginning of the next month, Lord Elrond spoke to Harry exclusively in Sindarin, and gave him **the look** every time Harry was forced to revert to Westron in order to get a point across.

For Harry, this had been an enjoyable experience, a time of easy living and shared interests, the likes of which he hadn't experienced in many years. Lord Elrond's collection of books was beyond extensive, and Harry had found himself absorbed by the tales they told, from ancient lore to accounts of epic battles. By the end of Harry's stay at Rivendell, less than seven months ago, any doubts he might have had about leaving his home to come to Middle-Earth were gone, as were the doubts about himself. Rivendell was indeed a safe haven for all, and Lord Elrond was as fine a host as any Harry had ever known.

For all that Lord Elrond had taught Harry, Gandalf matched with his own teachings. His instruction focused more on the present, teaching Harry about the world around him and how best to survive in it. Invariably one of them, usually Harry, would slip in some comment about his past. It became something like a game between the two wizards, reminiscing about some distant event, more to measure the shocked expression of the other than to make any relevant point. Gandalf had many captivating tales to tell, about his many years on the road, of valorous battles and of legendary figures.

Harry had remained a bit more guarded with his past, yet still shared with Gandalf tales of Hogwarts, of the manipulative and insidious Voldemort, and of the devastating war that pit wizard against wizard, and sometimes, family member against family member.

Despite how willing Harry had been to share even that much, Gandalf knew his friend was still holding back, was carrying some great burden on his shoulders that he would not share. Gandalf knew he wouldn't press Harry for the knowledge, as he glanced over at his friend who was currently enraptured by the sight of the waning moon, as it dipped behind fast-moving, scattered clouds.

Gandalf was content to keep his patience, satisfied in the knowledge that he and Harry shared similar moral principles and—as he was seeing more and more on this journey—a similar way of looking at the world.

* * *

><p>As they set out the next morning, Balin guided his pony over to Hadrian, Kili, and Fili and explained to them the reasoning behind Thorin's deep hatred for orcs, something the three of them had merely glimpsed the previous night. He told them about the Battle of Azanulbizar, fought at the eastern gate of Moria between the dwarves from all seven houses, and the orcs of the misty mountains. He described to them the massive battle, the scale of which Harry couldn't begin to imagine, and of the orcs' leader: Azog the Defiler.<p>

Balin was certainly an amazing storyteller, for the way he described the pale orc had Fili and Kili wringing the reigns of their ponies in fury. Azog had not only killed Thorin's grandfather, Thor, by beheading him, but also killed Frerin, brother to both Thorin and Dis, Kili's and Fili's mother.

"He had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin," Balin explained, upon seeing the reactions of the three riding beside him. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad with grief upon the loss of both his father and youngest son. He went missing that day, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know."

Balin went on to describe the sense of despair and hopelessness that befell the orcs, until Thorin himself stepped up to challenge Azog. He perfectly recreated the scene for them from his point of view, watching Azog force Thorin to the ground, his victory almost certain at that point. Thorin, with nothing but an oaken branch he had picked up to use as a shield against the powerful blows of Azog's mace, held his ground and would not yield until finally, Thorin managed to sever Azog's arm, forcing the pale orc to his knees in pain. Before he could think to finish his enemy off, other orcs rushed in and carried Azog back into the mines of Moria and sealed the doors behind them. With Azog gone, Thorin rallied the remaining dwarves to his call and defeated the army that stood against them.

"There were some among us who wanted to press on and reclaim Moria itself, but it remained beyond our power to conquer. Our dead… were beyond the count of grief," Balin lamented, obviously still carrying the pain of so many losses even to this day. "There was no feast that night, nor were stories to tell, or songs to be sung. This was not victory. It was survival."

"And Azog? What became of him?" Harry asked.

"He slunk back into the whole from whence he came," Thorin called back to them, apparently having listened in to Balin's retelling of their battle. "That filth died of his wounds long ago," Thorin stated, moving his pony further ahead of the company.

"But, a severed arm is hardly fatal on its own," Harry said to Balin. "If the orcs dragged him back into Moria, it's possible they could've cauterized the wound. He could still be alive…"

Balin shook his head, glancing at Thorin's back briefly before speaking to Hadrian. "I wouldn't bother, lad. Thorin lost a brother and a grandfather to the pale orc, and possibly his own father as well. He'll accept no conclusions that might deny the death of Azog."

Harry took Balin's advisement into consideration and kept his suspicions of Azog to himself. Not long after they'd entered the Upland Woods, at the edge of the lone-lands, it began pouring down upon them, and he silently cast an impervious charm upon himself to remain dry.

"Here, mister Gandalf? Can't you do something about this deluge?" Dori pleaded.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done," Gandalf called back to Dori firmly. "If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

"How about you, mister Potter? Can you do anything about the rain?" Dori asked.

"I'm not so arrogant, Master Dori, as to presume I can dictate the course of the weather," Harry replied. "If you need want a wizard to do so, it's not going to be me, either."

"And how many of you are there?" Bilbo inquired, riding up until he was just behind Gandalf, and on Hadrian's left.

"There are five of us," Gandalf responded, while Hadrian had set about casting impervious charms on the dwarves behind him, earning many appreciative words. "The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then there are the two Blue wizards…" Gandalf paused, a look of concentration forming upon his face. "Do you know, I've quite forgotten their names."

"And you'd be the fifth? What is your color?" Bilbo asked, glancing over at Hadrian.

"I am a wizard, make no mistake of that, but I am one of a different sort to Gandalf. I'm not Hadrian the anything, though I'd probably be Hadrian the Red, if I could choose," Harry said. A fleeting thought had brought up the name Harry the Green, before being immediately discarded. The color of his eyes it may be, but he'd never be caught dead wearing so much of that color. Ron would have probably had a fit, he thought, with an accompanying chuckle.

"So, who is the fifth wizard then," Bilbo asked Gandalf.

"Well, that would be Radagast the Brown," Gandalf answered with a smile.

Bilbo personally thought a Red wizard, like Hadrian would have chosen to be, sounded much better alongside the White, Gray, and Blue wizards, rather than this… Radagast the brown. "Is he a great wizard like Hadrian? Or is he… more like you?"

Harry suppressed a snort.

Gandalf looked back at the two of them, appearing thoroughly affronted, though Harry knew it didn't bother him anywhere near as much as it seemed. "I think he is a _very_ great wizard, in his own way. He's a gentle soul, who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the east."

Bilbo nodded in thought, before turning back to Hadrian. "Have you met them? The other wizards?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Gandalf is the only one I am familiar with, though I've heard Saruman's name mentioned more than a few times before. I've never heard or read anything about these two blue wizards though, and as for Radagast, well, there was never really a reason for Gandalf to bring him up. So, I have only just learned of him now, much like you."

It wasn't long before they left the borders of the woods and found themselves in open ground once more, approaching a ruined old farmhouse. It looked utterly devastated, with the room smashed in and several walls appearing to have been… ripped off the structure. Moss was growing atop what remained of the broken stone wall surrounding the building and the chimney.

"We'll camp here for the night." Thorin declared, bringing the company to a halt.

Gandalf dismounted from his horse and started approaching the ruined wooden building, with Harry following after him, concerned with his silence. Gandalf walked through the farmhouse, looking over the remains with some degree of familiarity. "A farmer and his family used to live here," he muttered, turning around to face Harry.

"How long ago?" Harry asked, a growing sense of dread developing within him due to Gandalf's somber tone.

"Not long," Gandalf replied, saying no more. And he didn't need to, for Harry understood the meaning quite clearly. The people living here had been attacked, likely killed, by an enemy that might still be within the area.

"_Orcs?"_ Harry asked, his hands slowly drifting to the hilts of his swords.

"_No, I do not believe this was an orc raid. There is too little damage for that. They would have burned the house to the ground, and left the bodies where they fell." _Gandalf replied, motioning with his staff to show that there was no sign of anyone around, living or dead.

"Is there something our two wizards needed to discuss, away from our ears?" Thorin asked rhetorically, walking up to Harry and Gandalf.

"Thorin, I believe it would be wiser for us to move on, rather than make camp here. We could make for the Hidden Valley," Gandalf suggested.

"I have told you already, that I will _not_ go near that place," Thorin denied, stepping further into the building past the two, and turned around until he was facing them, making sure they knew how firm he'd hold to his conviction of avoiding the elves.

"Thorin, Lord Elrond _will_ help us," Harry promised. "He will welcome us with open arms—"

"He will welcome _you_ with open arms," Thorin corrected. "Long is the animosity between our people, Hadrian. When Smaug attacked Erebor, what help came from the elves? Orcs plundered Moria, desecrated our sacred halls, and still we fought alone. No elves came to our aid, so why should I seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and my father?"

"Lord Elrond is not King Thranduil, just as you are neither your grandfather nor your father," Gandalf stated. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past."

"I did not know they were yours to keep," Thorin snapped, looking up at Gandalf challengingly.

Gandalf huffed in irritation, unable to believe how hardheaded Thorin was acting. He'd put the lives of everyone in the company in danger, so long as they stayed away from Rivendell or any other elven home. _"Stay with the dwarves. Be on alert for danger."_

"_Where are you going?"_ Harry asked, as he watched Gandalf storming off.

"_I'll be looking ahead. I may be able to ward off any threats before they reach you." _Gandalf answered, pausing just at the doorway—if it could still be called such—of the farmhouse. With that said, Gandalf headed off past the rest of the company making camp, and diverted any suspicions from them by claiming he wanted to spend time with the only one who had any sense—himself.

"Is he coming back?" Bilbo asked Hadrian, when the wizard approached and helped him unload the food from the ponies.

"Undoubtedly, but not for a while. Just know that he has a good reason," Harry remarked vaguely, wondering what it was that had put Gandalf so on edge.

* * *

><p>Harry accepted the bowl of stew from Bombur gratefully, and sampled it readily with the wooden spoon. It wasn't bad per say, but neither was it anything particularly exceptional. Really what it lacked more than anything else was seasoning. Though, the cut up pieces of salted pork did go a long way towards solving that problem.<p>

"Can I ask you something, Hadrian?"

Harry glanced over at Bilbo and swallowed a mouthful of stew. "Sure, ask away."

Bilbo hummed idly, spinning his own wooden spoon around the bowl without eating. "What animal is your armor made from?"

"Dragon hide, Hebridean Black," Harry answered without hesitation, after gulping down another helping of stew. He paused and glanced up, noticing that everyone around the campsite was now staring at him in shock and awe. "What?"

"You… killed a dragon and made yourself armor from its hide?" Bilbo asked incredulously.

"Ah…" Harry said, realizing his mistake. "No. The dragon died from natural causes. A family friend at a dragon reserve sent me the hide as a gift, and I had it taken to a leather worker to be made into an outfit. It functions as armor only by coincidence, as that wasn't my intent when I had it made."

"They have dragon _reserves_ where you're from? _Tamed_ dragons?" Thorin murmured in disbelief.

Harry finished off the remainder of his stew directly from the bowl. "From what I've heard of Smaug, he seems like a fairly intelligent being. Dragons where I'm from are _nothing_ like that. They're essentially wild, magical creatures, with more instinct than intelligence. However, dragons haven't actually attacked people in several centuries. And you can never _truly_ tame a dragon. The best you can hope to accomplish, is taking care of them by building a reserve around their natural habitat."

"Why would anyone want to take care of a dragon?" Thorin sneered.

"Easy access to ingredients. A dragon's blood, claws, heart, hide, and meat are all of value to wizards for varying purposes. With dragons so close, as soon as they die, they're harvested, with absolutely nothing going to waste," Harry answered. As he'd expected, this answer greatly satisfied Thorin, if the smirk on his face was anything to go by.

Thankfully, the dwarves seemed content let the matter drop now that Harry had explained so thoroughly. He stood up to hand the wooden bowl and spoon back to Bombur, after a quick scourgify to clean them, only to receive two more bowls of stew.

"Do us a favor and take this to the lads," Bofur requested, referring to Kili and Fili, who had been watching over the ponies and horses for hours now. It was a sign of their respect for Thorin, that they took the assignment so seriously, and never once joined the others around the fire.

Harry carried the bowls with him as he rounded the a thick tree that marked the edge of their camp and came upon the two brothers, standing rigidly straight, and staring ahead stiffly. Though he could only see their backs, Harry had a strong suspicion that neither was blinking. "What's got you two so bothered?"

"We're supposed to be looking after the ponies," Kili said.

"Only, we've encountered a… slight problem," Fili added in hesitantly.

"How slight?" Harry asked, pushing a bowl into the hands of both dwarves, who began to eat out of reflex, and spoke between gulps of stew.

"We had sixteen," Kili told him.

"Now… there's fourteen." Fili finished.

Harry frowned and stepped past them, looking around the area where the remaining mounts were grazing. It was only when he nearly tripped, that he noticed his foot had dropped into a fairly deep hole. "No… not a hole," he muttered. Crouching down on one knee, Harry brushed aside several broken branches and twigs and cursed. It was a footprint. Glancing up, he spotted an uprooted tree only a short distance ahead of him and moved up to inspect it. "Pushed aside as an afterthought probably. The tree was in its way."

"I think we should warn Thorin," Harry suggested to the pair standing behind him.

Fili and Kili shared a look between them. "Uh, no. Let's not bother him until we find the ponies," Fili responded with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Being a wizard and all, we were thinking you might want to look into it," Kili proposed, walking past the fallen tree.

Harry rubbed his chin in thought. "Something big uprooted this tree, something big enough to carry the ponies off with it as food. For as much as I know about the area, which is nothing mind you, it could be nearly anything."

He was about to ask them if they had any ideas, but noticed they had ignored him and moved on ahead, towards a faintly glowing light in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, Harry saw the way the light shifted and moved against the surrounding trees, which meant it was a fire. As swiftly as he dared, watching his footsteps to avoid snapping fallen twigs, he followed Fili and Kili and crouched down beside them.

"Trolls," Kili said, answering Harry's unspoken question. Not that Harry doubted Kili's assertion, but it did help him to see a troll strolling past their concealed position a moment later, carrying two more of their ponies off, one under each arm. Compared to the trolls from his world, this one seemed a bit smaller, or perhaps it only seemed that way because he was no longer a scrawny eleven year old boy looking up at the creature.

"I'm going to set the ponies free," Harry informed them. "Do you know anything about them you can tell me? Anything at all that might help me out?"

"Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, but they're strong enough to put you down with one good hit," Fili stated. "Their hide's tough, but your blades might be able to dig in pretty well, being that their elven crafted mithril."

"How's their resistance to magic?" Harry inquired, only to receive a pair of blank looks. Of course, he realized a moment later how stupid his question sounded. "Never mind. I'm going in now. As soon as I set the ponies free, they'll know someone's there. I'd rather not do all the work alone, so—"

"Don't worry, we'll have the others ready to help by then," Kili reassured him.

Harry nodded and pulled up his hood, sending magic flowing from his fingertips into the cloth-like material of the invisibility cloak, and disappeared from view. The resulting gasps of surprise from Fili and Kili were the last sounds he was able to hear from them, as he slowly approached the trolls' campsite and discerned only the loud, rough voices of the trolls in the night.

"Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don't look like mutton again tomorrow," one of them grumbled to two others. Seeing them up close really put their size into perspective for Harry. Their legs alone were almost as thick as tree trunks, and he firmly believed Fili's statement that one hit from those heavily muscled arms would knock him solidly on his ass.

"Quit your griping, Bert. These ain't sheep. These is fresh nags," the troll carrying the ponies asserted, as he set them down beside two others in a roughly made, roped-off pen.

"Oh, I don't like horse, William. I never have," the last troll complained. His voice, unlike the other two, was higher-pitched and rather nasally, for a troll at least. "Not enough fat on them."

Now that Harry had heard them all, he took a moment to ponder the ridiculousness of the fact that their voices wouldn't have been out of place in England, a couple hundred years ago. Shaking that aside, he crept into the camp, and behind the back of the troll wearing an apron, heading towards the pen.

"Well, it's better than leathery old farmer, Tom. All skin and bone, he was," Bert replied. "I'm still picking bits of him out of me teeth."

Harry froze upon hearing that, and involuntarily began to clench his knuckles until they turned white. He quietly took a deep breath to try and calm himself, but the fact that he now knew these trolls had eaten the farmer and his family disturbed him quite a bit. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, he drew out the Elder Wand and sent a stinging hex into the lower left portion of Tom's skull, both to test the troll's magical resistance and to spark some infighting.

Not only did the hex provide immediate, successful results, with Tom hopping up and down, howling in pain, but he immediately assumed that Bert had struck him. He delivered a solid punch to Bert's face, and from there it spiraled out of control into an all-out brawl between the three, after several more well-placed stinging hexes.

Now with a suitable distraction, Harry was free to cut the ropes keeping the ponies trapped. What he hadn't counted on, however, was the ponies' reaction to the trolls' fighting. The loud yelling and powerful stomping shook the ground in the immediate area and frightened them. Thus, when Harry severed the rope with a diffindo, Daisy, Bungo, Myrtle, and Minty charged right past him in their desperation to escape, clipping his left arm with enough force to break it, and drawing a gasp of pain.

"Oi! Someone's gone and cut the horses loose!" William shouted, his arm wrapped around Tom's neck, with two fingers from his free hand digging into Tom's nose.

"I don't see nothing there!" Tom shouted, his already nasally voice coming out even higher with his nostrils being stretched.

"You didn't tie them up right, Tom. Now they've all gone loose!" Bert accused. "William, go and get 'em back! I'm starving!"

Harry slowly sat up, and pointed the Elder Wand at his broken left arm. "Brackium Emendo," he whispered, looping the wand in a motion resembling the infinity symbol. He bit back a hiss, as he felt the bones mending, and softly let out a sigh of relief when the spell had finished. "_That's_ how you use that spell, Lockhart," Harry muttered to himself.

When he noticed the troll named William heading back to their camp, he jabbed his wand at its legs, sending a faint orange beam hurtling towards the thick appendages. Upon impact, it was as if something had caught William around the ankles, causing him to fall spectacularly on his face, the impact of which sent a tremor racing through the ground.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if Bert was the smartest of the three trolls—though that wasn't saying much—and spotted the direction where the orange beam had originated from. He headed over to the general direction of the still cloaked Harry, and made a wide sweep with his arm, something Harry only just managed to roll under, but the noise of his evasion drew the attention of Tom and William.

As the three trolls started closing in, all thirteen dwarves of his company charged into the area from behind him, yelling and brandishing their weapons. Tom's hand, which had been the closest to reaching him, not that anyone knew, was forced away with a slice between his first two fingers by Thorin's sword.

Harry dispelled the effect of his cloak's invisibility and joined the fight, sending multiple reductos into the hands of the trolls every time they got close to grabbing one of the dwarves. While the reducto spell was quite good at obliterating inanimate objects, it was far less effective against living beings. Essentially it became a powerful bludgeoning spell, knocking back whatever it hit with a moderate amount of force. Against another human, it would have sent them flying. On the hands of a troll, it was as if they were merely slapped away.

Bofur slammed the blunt end of his mattock into William's foot, causing the troll to roar in pain. He spun around, trying to grab Bofur, but the dwarf evaded him easily, slipping through his legs where Dori was waiting. Spinning a bolas around and around above his head, Dori slammed the twin steel balls up between William's legs. The troll let out an agonizing squeal, and sunk to his knees, where Dwalin took the chance to smash his war hammer into his face knocking a few teeth loose.

"Defodio!" Harry shouted, thrusting his wand forward and launching the dull gray gouging spell into William's still open mouth, drilling straight through the back of his throat and severing the spine. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Kili cut open Tom's palm as he was reaching for the dwarf, and then slid beneath the troll, stabbing him in the belly as he did so. When Tom turned around, he was struck again, this time with Bifur's deadly boar spear, which pierced through the thick hide far easier than Kili's sword. Tom's backhanded swing sent the pair of dwarves running back to avoid the blow, but Ori stepped up and shot a rock from his slingshot with perfect aim into Tom's eye.

Furious, Tom picked up the young dwarf and began crushing him with his fist. Dwalin, who had leapt into a roll over one of Bert's punches, stayed crouched on the ground, allowing Thorin to spring off his back and slice into Tom's wrist, forcing him to drop Ori to the forest floor. Balin darted in and pulled Ori back from the approaching troll, only for Thorin to stop him in his tracks with a stab into the back of his knee.

Harry spotted Oin, Nori, and Bombur, all three of them wielding blunt weapons, struggling against Bert. Waving his wand over the deceased body of William, he transfigured the dead troll into a rhinoceros. "Oppugno!" Harry's spell directed the rhino to charge, and charge it did, storming straight across the clearing to stab its horn into the side of Bert's leg. Oh how Bert wailed, as the impact and pain toppled the troll onto his back.

"Hey Gloin! Going up! Volate Ascendare!" Harry's brilliant white beam streaked into the red-bearded dwarf's back and sent him soaring into the air, high above Bert who Oin, Nori, and Bombur were doing their best to keep down with powerful strikes to the troll's knees and elbows. Following him up with his eyes, Harry predicted where the dwarf would land back down and placed a cushioning charm upon the ground to safeguard Gloin from injury.

Gloin, who was alarmed and disoriented at first, looked down and smirked at the sight of the troll below him. He raised his axe high above his head as he began to fall back down, his eyes locked firmly upon the troll's thick neck. "Ishkhakui ai durugnul!" Gloin shouted in khuzdul, as he brought his axe slicing down into Bert's neck, the blade embedding itself deep enough to kill, but not enough to sever the head.

With only a single troll left to contend with, Harry rushed over towards Tom, who was rapidly being forced back by the wounds he was receiving from nine of the thirteen dwarves. His eyes roamed over each and every one of them, before ultimately landing upon Ori, futilely launching rock after rock at the troll's head. Interestingly, not one of Ori's shots ever missed, which was perfect for what he had in mind.

Wanting to time it perfectly, Harry waited until the rock fired from the slingshot got within two feet of Tom's face, before he transfigured it into massive steel-tipped javelin, which stabbed straight through Tom's right eye and into his brain. Thorin and the others all scattered as the final troll collapsed to the ground, like a tree being felled, with the javelin pushing through and rising like a bloody marker from the back of Tom's head. For a moment all was silent, as if none of them could believe what had happened. Then they began cheering and yelling, swarming over each other and congratulating one another for their excellent performance in the fight.

Harry would have been content to let them celebrate amongst themselves, but none of them would be having that, and pulled him into the group.

"That was brilliant, Hadrian!"

"Aye, he ripped that troll's throat open straight to the back!"

"Did you see what I did? My rock became a spear, and it jabbed straight through that troll's eye!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh along, as praises and compliments were heaped upon him by a majority of the group. "Gloin, what was that thing you said in dwarvish, right before you slammed your axe into the troll's throat?"

"Oh, that?" Gloin asked, wiping the troll blood from his axe head. "It's an old khuzdul insult, one of the worst. It means 'I spit upon your grave!'. You only use it when you think it's deserved, you see, and a troll's as good a choice as any orc."

"Well, I can see you've been kept rather busy in my absence," Gandalf remarked as he made his way down to them, stepping around the carcasses of the dead trolls, grimacing briefly at the smell.

Thorin and Harry headed over to greet the returning Gray wizard, while the others used the time to catch their breath after such a strenuous fight. "Where did you go to, if I may ask?" Thorin asked.

"To look ahead," Gandalf answered.

"And what brought you back?" Thorin pressed.

"You did. All of you," Gandalf replied, as if it should be obvious. "Thirteen dwarves and a wizard charging into combat is hardly something that goes unnoticed. In fact, I heard the sounds of your battle long before I actually arrived. You're a rather noisy lot, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said with an amused smile.

"Did you know about them when you left?" Harry asked, motioning to the three trolls.

"I knew it was likely that trolls were behind the attack on the farmhouse, and tried to waylay them before they reached you," Gandalf responded. "I never expected them to be so close."

"They ate him, Gandalf. The trolls ate the farmer and his family," Harry stated stiffly.

Gandalf frowned in remorse. "I had suspected as much, yet still I held out hope that they might have escaped. These trolls must have descended from the Ettenmoors and came upon the farmhouse almost immediately," Gandalf surmised, poking Tom's leg with the end of his staff.

"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" Thorin wondered.

"Ooh, not for an age. Not since a darker power ruled these lands," Gandalf replied quite seriously. "Still, they could not have moved in daylight, for the sun would have turned their skin to stone."

"A cave then," Harry concluded. "Somewhere large enough to hold the three of them during the day."

"That is my thinking, Hadrian," Thorin agreed. "Trolls are well known to horde that which they steal within their caves. If we find it, we may find something useful or valuable for our journey."

* * *

><p>The reunited company searched about the area, until Harry's keen eyes spotted more of the heavy footprints leading through the trees and up the hills. By the time they'd reached the entrance to the cave, the sun had already risen. From their first step through the entrance, they were assaulted by the most pungent of smells, unbelievably strong and concentrated solely within the cave. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.<p>

The floor was littered with a great number of moderate-sized bones, which Bombur instantly recognized as lamb bones, clothes of likely victims hung on the walls, and a pile of valuables was pushed off to one side, containing everything from brass or copper shirt buttons, to piles of golden coins, the majority of which were placed inside a small wooden chest.

"Seems a shame to leave it lying around," Bofur commented, as he nudged aside some of the coins with his boot. "Anyone could just take it."

"It might be too much for you guys to carry out on your own, but if you want, I can store _all_ of it away for you, quickly and easily," Harry remarked, heading over to Bofur, Nori, and Gloin, who had been about to bury the chest for safekeeping.

"Really? But there's got to be at least fifteen pounds of gold here, not counting the chest." Nori replied.

Harry smiled, and shifted his cloak aside, to reveal a brown leather pouch attached to his left hip. Untying the knot that kept it sealed, he opened it as wide as the drawstring would allow, and began summoning the coins into his mokeskin pouch. The three dwarves watched in amazement, as more and more gold disappeared into the bag, with no end in sight. It wasn't long, before everything in the pile had disappeared into Harry's bag, which he resealed and tied shut. "Simple as that. No matter how much I store inside, the bag remains no heavier than a feather to me, and its capacity to store items isn't anywhere close to its max, yet."

While Hadrian had headed over to store away the treasure, Thorin began inspecting a pile of swords at the back of the cave, covered in layers of dust and spider webs, giving him a clue as to how long they'd been here. One by one he began inspecting them, though most had been broken or rusted with age. Two, however, caught his eye due to their beautiful scabbards and gleaming jeweled hilts.

"These swords were not made by any troll," Thorin observed, as he pulled both out, and handed the longer blade to Gandalf, who had approached from behind.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men," Gandalf added, as he inspected the fine craftsmanship of the blade he now held in his hands. The hilt was wrapped in bright blue leather, and the guard had a small sapphire embedded on each side no larger than a beetle's eye. Pulling the sword out of its sheath, Gandalf discovered that that the weapons were in pristine condition, as if they had only just been forged. "These were forged in Gondolin, by the high elves of the First Age."

Upon hearing those words, Thorin scowled and made to put the sword back into the pile.

"You could not wish for a finer blade," Gandalf chastised him. "Hadrian's own weapons should attest to that."

Thorin stopped and instead drew out the sword, and was forced to admit that the blade was perfectly made. The hilt was made from the large tooth of some creature, and the blade was single-edged, with a curved leaf shape. Inscribed upon the blade and scabbard were several elven runes that he obviously could not decipher. "Hadrian, can you read this?"

Harry turned around and accepted the sword from Thorin, able to recognize it as an elven sword immediately. He drew out the sword and saw the runes streaming gracefully down the blade from the guard like a ribbon. "On the blade, it says, 'The Serpent's Tooth' and on the scabbard it reads, 'Born from the maws of dragons, I am always hungry and thirsty.' Given all that, I'd say the hilt is made from a dragon's tooth, perhaps one of the wingless worms that were often referred to as serpents. A fitting weapon for you, Thorin."

Whatever misgivings Thorin may have had about elves, to hear that he now possessed a sword made with a tooth taken from a dragon pleased him to no end. Hadrian was right. It seemed fitting, almost like fate, that such a weapon should be found by him on this journey. Perhaps it was a sign that Smaug would surely be defeated.

Their task completed in these caves, they all began to leave, though Gandalf paused when he stepped on something hidden beneath a pile of dried leaves. Brushing them aside with his staff, Gandalf revealed another blade, less than half as long as the sword he now carried. Nudging it out of its scabbard, he discovered that it was of the same make as the others, a weapon forged by the high elves. When he picked it up and got a good look at its size, he realized that it would be but a dagger to an elf, but… a perfect short sword for a hobbit.

He carried it with him outside, and looked around for Bilbo, before spotting him sitting beneath a tree next to Ori. "Bilbo. Here, this is about your size."

Bilbo accepted the weapon Gandalf was holding out to him, and began looking it over. It had a polished wooden hilt, with an intricately designed vine pattern inlaid upon the wood in silver. There was a fine leather belt wrapped around the scabbard, with a fine silver buckle, that sparkled in the sunlight even with the abundance of webs and dust that covered it. "I can't take this," Bilbo said, trying to give it back to Gandalf.

"The blade is of elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs are nearby," Gandalf informed him.

"But I've never used a sword in my life," Bilbo protested in a whisper, so that none of the dwarves or Hadrian would overhear him.

"And I hope you never have to," Gandalf responded. "But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."

"Someone's coming!" Thorin warned.

"Stay together, now! Arm yourselves!" Gandalf commanded, drawing the sword now resting on his left hip and moving to stand in front of the dwarves.

Bilbo took this moment to draw out his new weapon, and marveled at the beauty of the polished surface. He turned and rushed over to stand beside Hadrian, who had his wand trained on the bushes directly in front of them, a look on concentration in his eyes. Bilbo had seen him in action against the trolls, and woe betide anyone who became Hadrian's enemy.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" Bursting through the leaves, came a sled being pulled by rabbits the size of large dogs. Standing atop the sled was an elderly looking man with a rough and ragged appearance. His long brown robes were disheveled and stained, his beard was flecked with dirt and bits of leaves, and there was a long trail of dried bird droppings along the right side of his face, coming out of his hat.

"Radagast. It's Radagast the Brown," Gandalf said, sheathing his blade and stepping forth to greet his fellow wizard. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong," Radagast declared seriously. When Gandalf motioned for him to proceed, he opened his mouth to speak and froze. He tried again, only to stop before saying anything again. "Oh, I had a thought and now I've lost it. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue. Oh… it's not a thought at all. It's a silly old stick insect," he stated, after Gandalf had pulled the insect from off of Radagast's tongue.

"That's the fifth wizard? He's nothing like you, or even Gandalf," Bilbo muttered softly to Hadrian, as he watched Radagast and Gandalf draw away to discuss something in private.

"Well, Gandalf _did_ say he was great in his own way. There must be more to him than his appearance would suggest," Harry replied, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more—Bilbo or himself.

"There'd have to be. He had bird droppings on his face. Old ones too, from the looks of it. How can he not have cleaned it off by now?" Bilbo wondered in disgust. Suddenly, he heard a howl echoing through the trees around them. "Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves? No, that is not a wolf," Bofur denied, looking around rapidly for any sign of the creature that made that howl. He heard a low growling sound from behind him and turned around to see a warg leaping at him, only for Hadrian to blast it into a tree with a banishing charm. Before it could collect its bearing and attempt to attack again, Harry had Elvir buried in the creature's skull.

Another warg came around from behind, and was charging down towards Harry who had his back turned towards it, but Kili brought up his bow and shot it through the side, sending it tumbling down to the floor, where Thorin finished it by slicing open its throat with his new sword. "Warg scouts," he said. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf asked, walking up to Thorin.

"No one," he answered.

"Who did you tell?" Gandalf demanded.

"No one, I swear!" Thorin denied vehemently. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted," Gandalf replied. "We need to leave, immediately."

"I'll draw them off," Harry and Radagast volunteered simultaneously. They turned to look at each other, each one doubting whether the other would be of any help in this situation.

* * *

><p>With Radagast and Harry drawing off the wargs and their orc riders, Gandalf led the thirteen dwarfs out of the forest and across the open plains, using the large stones in the area as cover when Radagast inadvertently drew their enemies too close. It was a slow process, as Gandalf prioritized keeping the group together, rather than speed.<p>

They came to a halt as a line of wargs ran across the plains, no more than 100 feet ahead of them. High above them in the skies, a piercing cry rang out as Harry, in his animagus form, stooped down at speeds far surpassing the wargs, and slashed his talons into the back of an orc's neck, sending it tumbling off of its mount. The black-feathered peregrine falcon then rose back up into the air, to regain enough altitude for another dive at top speed.

"You didn't tell us Hadrian possessed such an ability," Thorin said to Gandalf accusingly, as he led them away towards the west, while Radagast and Harry dealt with their pursuers.

"If you are expecting me to inform you of every feat within Hadrian's capabilities, then you will be sorely disappointed, for I will not spend that much of my time divulging another man's secrets," Gandalf replied, as they hid themselves behind a large rock, the sound of howling and snapping jaws growing fainter as the wargs passed them by. "And you didn't think I would insist on Hadrian as our primary scout without good reason, did you?"

When the coast was clear, they were back out into the open, moving across the plains as fast as they could, with Gandalf directing them off in a different direction seemingly at random intervals, regardless of whether the wargs were close enough to spot them. When the wargs were led less than fifty feet away, they all ducked back behind a boulder, only for a lone warg to leap atop the stone above them.

Thorin glanced over at Kili and then at the warg, giving his nephew a silent nod. Kili returned the gesture and nocked an arrow on his bow. He took a steadying breath and counted to three in his head, before stepping away and turning around. He shot the arrow into the warg's neck, sending it and its rider tumbling over onto the ground beside them.

The warg was still alive and screeching in pain, while the orc dismounted and charged at the dwarves. Dwalin delivered a punch from each of his hands into the orc's head, the twin knuckledusters he wore on his fists, Insult and Injury he'd named them, breaking the orc's jaw with the first punch, and caving in the skull with the second.

Gloin then finished off the warg with his axe, but by then it was too late. The sounds it had made in pain alerted the remainder of the pack, and drew them all towards their location. Harry flew down towards them and shifted back into his human form, landing softly on the grass. "There's no point in trying to draw them off anymore, they know where you are now."

"Run!" Gandalf shouted, leading them off towards the east. Farther and farther they ran, until eventually they ended up surrounded. The pack had broken off while they were fleeing, and now converged upon them from all directions. Gandalf looked around for something he knew should be here, and eventually spotted the large moss covered boulder he had been leading them to. "This way!"

Left with no option but to follow, the dwarves retreated after Gandalf towards the lock rock, and to their surprise, found a hole leading down into a tunnel. "Down!" Thorin ordered, standing by the entrance and making sure the others got through first. Kili was backpedaling slowly, trying to take down as many of them as he could first. Thorin had to order him down, otherwise he knew his nephew would have stayed until his quiver ran dry.

Harry was the last one to descend, decapitating an orc rider with a well aimed Sectumsempra curse. Almost immediately after his feet touched the ground in the tunnel, a familiar horn call rang out through the plains above them.

"That is no orc horn," Harry murmured.

The sound of thunderous hoof beats drowned out all other sound, save for the dying screams of a few orcs close enough to the tunnel's entrance. One such orc tumbled down towards them, an arrow embedded deep within its throat. Thorin pulled out the snapped arrow shaft and scowled upon seeing the intricate arrowhead. "Elves," he spat in distaste.

"I cannot see where the path leads" Dwalin called back to them, from the other end of the tunnel, where a narrow path lead off into the distance. "Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it, of course." Bofur replied, as he headed down the path with the other dwarves following after him. They had no other choice, after all. It was remain here, head back out to see orcs and wargs or elves, or follow the solitary path out.

They hadn't proceeded very far before both Bilbo and Harry felt something wash over them, though neither realized the other had felt it. _"Gandalf, I may not be familiar with this particular path, but I recognize the feel of this magic well."_

"Gandalf, where are we?" Bilbo asked before Gandalf could respond to Harry's statement. He had expected as much from Harry, but to hear it from Bilbo was an unexpected surprise.

"You can feel it?" He asked.

Bilbo nodded slowly, aware that both Gandalf and Hadrian were staring at him. "Yes, it feels like… well, like magic."

"That's because it _is_ magic," Harry confirmed with a smile, clapping his hand gently on Bilbo's shoulder as he pressed on. He stepped out of the end, just behind the dwarves who had already exited, and came upon the sight of Rivendell, in all its splendor. He noticed Bilbo step out beside him, equally transfixed upon the beautiful sight before them.

"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf announced to the company. "In the common tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," Bilbo said with reverence, unable to believe what he was seeing. He'd done it. He'd actually found the elves. Despite all the danger he'd been put through so far, just being here made it all worthwhile.

"I'm home." Harry whispered.

* * *

><p>Done.<p>

These chapters have come out relatively close to one another, but school is starting for me soon, so don't expect this kind of update speed once I'm back in class.

Also, the spell Harry used to Send Gloin flying I'm sure some may know as "Alarte Ascendare" but that is wrong. If you listen closely in the movie, Gilderoy actually does say "Volate Ascendare" which means "fly up" in Latin.

As always, read and review please, and point out any spelling or grammar mistakes for me to fix. Thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything concerning Harry Potter or The Hobbit in anyway.

Several people asked me about the invisibility cloak, so I'm going to answer that here. Harry wears it all the time, but transfigured it into a more common-looking cloak, black wool or linen, or whatever cloaks are made from, with a hood. As the Master of Death Harry can choose when use the cloak's invisibility, whenever he dons the hood, and it hides his form entirely.

That leads to me my next point, which is that I hadn't considered, or rather neglected to consider, that death is more far-reaching than even the power of the Valar. I intended to respect the power of the Maiar, but forgot that, for all this power they possess, they really aren't _allowed_ to use the majority of it, and what we acts of magic we _do_ see from them, even in the books, is few and far between.

I believe FF user "Joe Lawyer" put it best in his review: "Having the power and yet being unwilling and possibly NOT allowed to use that power means that in practical terms, Gandalf is nowhere near Harry's level.

You can't forget Harry's role as the Master of Death. Death is a primordial force that transcends the multi-verse; the Valar, on the other hand, are more akin to terrestrial Gods with their power limited to this particular planet/dimension. The scope of Harry's powers from death is far greater in that sense."

So, yeah I suppose from a practical point of view, Harry is the more powerful wizard.

* * *

><p>Harry was very grateful that Thorin had agreed to let him and Gandalf do all the talking, as they made their way down from the hidden pathway towards Rivendell. Strong, courageous fighters the dwarves might be, but they were hardly the most tactful people. Though, Balin might come the closest out of all of them.<p>

From his first step back into the "Last Homely House East of the Sea" Harry was hit by a wave of nostalgia and fond memories. Harry's time here had been some of his happiest moments in the last century. Humans were nothing like elves, after all. The elves were made to have eternal youth and life from the start. They were accustomed to it, and would hardly bat an eye at the passing of a century or two. But for Harry, who had assumed that he'd die of old age one day and thus cherished each moment, the last few decades in his world had been nigh unbearable. He didn't think like the elves, and was still getting used to his… extended lifespan.

"Mithrandir. Hadrian."

Thorin watched the byplay carefully, as both Gandalf and Hadrian moved to greet this elf approaching them now. He didn't look like a fighter, dressed in long, flowing clothes made of delicate linens and silks. That did not mean, however, that Thorin would dismiss him as a threat. He'd had too much experience with elves to ignore the idea that a dagger could be hiding on the elf's person.

"Mae g'ovannen, Lindir. Gwannas lû and." Harry said, clasping his right forearm with the elf's and pulling him into a hug. Thorin didn't need to understand what they were saying for him to know that Hadrian had known this elf for a long time, and probably counted him amongst his friends.

"Mae g'ovannen, Hadrian. Lend and? Thostog sui úan," Lindir replied with a teasing grin. Hadrian frowned and lifted his arm to over-dramatically sniff his armpit and made a show of his resulting grimace, widening the smile on the elf's face, before both of them started chuckling.

"Gandalf, what are they saying?" Bilbo whispered, as he watched the exchange with growing fascination.

"They are greeting each other as friends, as it has been a long time since Hadrian was last in Rivendell. Oh, and Lindir has just told Hadrian that he smells like a monster," Gandalf answered with a chuckle. Once Harry and Lindir had finished their reunion, he stepped forward and greeted the elf, though with much less familiarity. "I must speak with Lord Elrond," Gandalf requested in Westron, for the benefit of Bilbo and the dwarves.

"My Lord Elrond is not here," Lindir informed him regretfully. He would have desired to see the return of Mithrandir and Hadrian to Imladris himself.

"Not here? Where is he?" Gandalf inquired, finding it rather unusual that Lord Elrond would leave Rivendell. That had not happened in many years.

Lindir's reply was cut off by the resounding cry of an elven horn sounding off behind them, one which Harry recognized as the horn he'd heard from the plains, moments before the orcs pursuing them were slaughtered. "He is here," Harry answered with a rapidly growing smile. He turned around towards the main gate, spotting Lord Elrond and a small group of elves galloping in towards them on magnificent steeds.

Unfortunately, though expectedly, Thorin did not find the approach of this group as welcoming a sight as Hadrian, and had the dwarves grouping up together in the middle of the entryway. They pulled Bilbo into the center of their formation and had their weapons drawn, with their backs against each other, as they watched the elves circling around them. Harry knew that, while the elves might have been curious about the presence of so many dwarves, they would not have harmed the group unless Thorin and the others made the first hostile action. And it seemed they were dangerously close to doing so at any moment.

"Gandalf, Hadrian, it is good to see you both returned to Imladris," Elrond greeted, as he dismounted from his horse.

"_My friend. Where have you been?"_ Gandalf replied with a courteous bow of his head in respect to the elven lord.

"_We've been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the south. We slew a number near the hidden pass."_ Elrond stepped up and gave Gandalf a brief hug, and then over to Hadrian, though the embrace shared between the two was a bit longer and had a deeper sense of friendship and familiarity.

"_Harry, how have you been since leaving Rivendell?"_ Elrond asked with a fond smile.

Harry bowed his head in respect to the one who had done so much for him during his early years in Middle-Earth. _"Uneventful, until Gandalf requested we meet in Bree. Since then, I've had a long journey and am on my way to calling the group you see before you my friends." _Harry motioned with his arm, drawing Elrond's attention over towards the gathered group of dwarves, and curiously one hobbit. It did not surprise him to see the dwarves on edge in the presence of so many elves, but it did pique his interest to find Harry traveling in the company of Thorin Oakenshield. It also answered the question of why orcs had drawn so close to their border.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain," Elrond greeted respectfully.

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replied, attempting to keep some measure of civility within his voice, if only for Hadrian's sake. He saw well the bond between their company's wizard and this elven leader. Had Hadrian possessed pointed ears of his own, Thorin would have guessed them father and son.

"You have your grandfather's bearing," Elrond replied, seeing much of Thorin's grandfather, and his father Thrain, in the way he carried himself. "I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain.

"Indeed? He—" Thorin paused, and glanced over in Hadrian's direction before biting back the words he had originally intended to say. "—did not have the chance to tell me of elves beyond those serving Thranduil, before he...passed."

He was relieved to see the appreciative smile Hadrian had directed his way.

Elrond nodded in understanding, already seeing the seed of influence planted by Harry starting to grow. It never ceased to amaze him, that Harry could forge such connections and attachments to others, without the intent to even do so. Whether it was through his confidence, his charisma, his morals or his honor, Harry was a man able to inspire others and draw out the best in them. _"__Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests."_

"What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" Gloin demanded, hefting his axe and setting the other dwarves muttering uncomplimentary things under their breaths.

"No, Gloin. Lord Elrond is offering you his welcome, with food and wine," Harry responded patiently. He nearly laughed in amusement when the dwarves made a show of having to discuss the offer. He very much doubted that they would turn down the offer of free food and drink.

"Well, in that case, lead on," Gloin requested, speaking for the group.

* * *

><p>They had been led through Rivendell to guest rooms, where they were able to store their belongings and rest up before dinner, though it was only because of Harry's insistence that the dwarves did not carry their weapons with them to the courtyard. It seemed that, while they had been resting, several tables had been brought out so that they could dine with the light of the setting sun. The twelve dwarves and Bilbo had been split between two adjoining tables opposite a circular pedestal in the center, while Harry, Gandalf, and Thorin dined with Elrond personally.<p>

Several elves had been brought out to entertain them with music while they ate, and roasted venison was served as the main dish; a rare treat, as the elves did not often partake of meat except for special occasions. And Harry's return to Rivendell certainly fit the bill in Elrond's eyes.

"Try it," Dori implored to his younger brother. "Just a mouthful."

"I don't like green food," Ori said, putting the lettuce on his plate back into the serving bowl and pulling over another two pieces of venison. Most of the other dwarves shared his opinion, and ignored much of the fresh crops in favor of the meat. At the rate they devoured it, they would have no choice _but_ to eat the fresh fruit and vegetables provided, for there was surely not enough venison to sate the appetites of thirteen dwarves.

Kili locked eyes with the elven maiden playing the harp and gave her a confident smirk accompanied by a wink. Her eyes passed right over him and fell upon Hadrian, sitting towards her left at Elrond's table, and did not stray again. Kili felt eyes boring into him, and saw Dwalin giving him an unamused look from across the table. He wiped the smirk from his face immediately and shook his head to the unvoiced question.

"Can't say I fancy elf maids myself, too thin." Kili said, trying to play off his failed flirting attempt. The twin raised eyebrows Dwalin gave him only expressed disbelief at his words, so he decided to elaborate, hoping to convince the other dwarf. "They're all high cheekbones, and creamy skin. It's good enough for Hadrian it looks like, but there's not enough facial hair for me. Although, that one there is not bad," he said, motioning with his eyes towards an elf that had just walked behind him with a hand harp.

"That's not an elf maid," Dwalin whispered to Kili. The elf then turned around, giving Kili a clear glace at _his_ face. When he glanced back at Dwalin, all he received was a mocking wink, which then set off the laughter at the table, and all Kili could do was nod and accept that he'd made himself look foolish.

Over at Elrond's table, Harry grinned when he saw Kili staring up at Cellin, the male harpist. It was rather ironic that he would mistake an elven man for a woman when dwarven women were often mistaken for men according to Gloin, who'd told him about his wife and son.

"This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver," Elrond remarked, inspecting the blade Thorin had handed over. "A famous blade, forged by the high elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well," Elrond said, handing the blade back to Thorin and granting the dwarf his blessing to wield the sword, as he had done for Harry with Elvir and Ithilur.

Thorin's eyes widened in momentary surprise that he had been allowed to keep the sword. He'd been certain that when Hadrian persuaded him to let Lord Elrond inspect it, it would be taken and kept in Rivendell to pass on to a worthy elf. He quickly schooled his features and accepted Orcrist with a nod of gratitude, and grudging respect. He supposed that he should have expected as much from an elf worthy of such respect from Hadrian.

"And this, is Glamdring, the Foehammer," Elrond stated, inspecting Gandalf's acquired sword. "Sword of the king of Gondolin. I assume your grasp of Sindarin has not faded from atrophy, Hadrian, so please, read to me the inscription you see here." Elrond held the sword out and pointed to the runes engraved on the guard.

"Turgon, aran Gondolin, tortha gar a matha Glamdring i vegil glamdring gûd daelo, dam an Glamhoth," Harry read off perfectly, the words flowing from his lips without pause like a stream of water. "Turgon, king of Gondolin, wields, has, and holds the sword Glamdring: foe of Morgoth's realm, hammer to the orcs," he translated for Thorin.

"Very good," Elrond praised, pleased that Harry's mastery of the elven tongue had not diminished since his time away from Imladris. "Both of these were crafted for the Goblin Wars of the First Age. How did you come by a pair of such well renowned swords such as these?"

"We found them in a troll hoard of all places, on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs," Gandalf answered.

"Though, none of us are quite sure how trolls managed to get their hands on them," Harry interjected, before Lord Elrond could pursue the topic of why they traveled along the Great East Road. Now that he knew how important the swords were, with one wielded by the king of Gondolin himself, it only seemed all the more improbable that the group had stumbled upon them in the cave.

"It is not so unlikely," Elrond explained to Harry, instantly detecting his unspoken interest in the matter from a historical point of view. Harry had learned of the rise and fall of Gondolin, the hidden city of the elves, early during his stay in Imladris, and likely found it quite insulting that such important pieces had been so far removed from elven possession. "One may assume that your trolls plundered the blades from other plunderers, who would have done the same many times over until we trace them back to the goblins who took part in the city's destruction."

Elrond returned Glamdring to Gandalf, along with his silent blessing. He did not need to put it to words, for Mithrandir understood the implications of the action quite well. Thorin Oakenshield on the other hand, would have been more reassured to hear it directly. "Thirteen dwarves and a halfling. You have found yourself strange traveling companions, Hadrian," Elrond commented.

"I will not deny their… uniqueness, but I have not been lacking enjoyment whilst in their company. Every one of them is brave, noble, and trustworthy," Harry replied, sending a light stinging hex into the back of Nori's hand, as he tried to stuff the silver pepper shaker into his coat.

Elrond's lips struggled to hide their amusement, and he instead chose to conceal them behind the lip of his wine goblet. It was then that one of the dwarves climbed up onto the pedestal and began to sing, and he watched Harry's reaction carefully.

"There's… an… inn,

there's an inn

There's a merry old inn

beneath an old gray hill.

And there they brew

a beer so brown,

The Man in the Moon

himself came down

one night to drink his fill!

By now the dwarves were stomping along to Bofur's tavern song and, to Harry's embarrassment, began to throw some of the excess food they had not eaten once the venison was finished. He gave Lord Elrond a sheepish smile in response to the quirked eyebrow and tried to hide his face without making it _seem_ like he was trying to do so.

"Oh, the ostler has a tipsy cat

that played a five-stringed fiddle.

And up and down he saws his bow,

now squeaking high,

now purring low.

Now sawing in the middle.

When Bofur had finished the next and last verse of their song, the dwarves all cheered him on with even more thrown food. The elves that had been playing their instruments earlier didn't look half as bothered by the dwarves' distaste in their music, as they did with the handfuls of messy food being flung about. Kili even chucked a glob of potatoes towards Lindir, who saw it coming and nudged his head to the side to avoid the mess. However, he failed to see the food swerve in midair and smack him in the face anyways.

Elrond glanced at Harry, whose hands were hidden beneath the table, and gave him a knowing smirk, not at all convinced by the innocent expression he was trying to pass off.

"It's such a nice statue. I didn't want to see it dirtied," Harry said unabashedly.

* * *

><p>"You have our gratitude for your hospitality, but our business should not be the concern of elves."<p>

Harry sighed and began rubbing his temples, feeling a migraine starting to develop. The sun had long since set by the time the company finished their dinner, and Gandalf requested that Lord Elrond speak to them in private, to discuss a matter of utmost importance. Thus, Harry, Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, Gandalf, and Lord Elrond were in the main hall of Rivendell, away from the others, to have the map of Erebor examined.

Or trying to, anyways.

"Thorin, none of us can decipher whatever secret this map holds, a secret that will tell us how to enter the mountain. Without that knowledge, this whole journey will have been for naught." Harry said. "Is that acceptable to you? Would you be satisfied, going all the way to Erebor and having to turn around in failure, because you would not let Lord Elrond examine the map?"

"So this is your plan, to enter the Lonely Mountain?" Elrond asked.

Harry received a sharp look from Thorin, but did not back down. He would not try to lie or deceive Lord Elrond, and if Thorin didn't like that, then too bad for him. "Yes. Our plan is to reclaim the dwarven kingdom of Erebor."

"Hadrian, this map is a legacy of my people. From my grandfather to my father, it has come to me. It is now mine to protect, as are its secrets," Thorin said. "You cannot ask me to betray them—"

"You are _not_ betraying them, Thorin," Harry argued, wondering if all dwarves were as hardheaded as the stone they mined in their mountains. "You said yourself that both of them would want you to see this quest through to its completion. Well, this is just another step in the right direction, pushing us a little bit closer to Erebor. Lord Elrond is one of the few people in Middle-Earth who would be able to read that map. If you can't trust Lord Elrond, then at least trust _me_. This will not be in vain."

Thorin contemplated Hadrian's words in silence for several long moments. There was undeniably some secret hidden on this map that would get them into the mountain. His father would not have given it and the key to Gandalf otherwise. He stood firm by his earlier claim, that their quest would not receive this elven lord's blessing. But perhaps, it would not be hindered either, given how fervently Hadrian was defending it. Following his gut feeling on this matter, Thorin stepped forward and pulled out the folded up paper from within his coat. Balin tried to dissuade him, but he decided to trust in Hadrian's assessment of Lord Elrond's character and handed over the map.

Elrond took the map with great care, and inspected it carefully. "You are prepared for the dragon residing within, I take it, Hadrian? You are aware, that the creature will not part with its acquired horde lightly, and will do anything within its power to destroy every last one of you?"

"I am," Harry confirmed boldly. Bilbo glanced over at Hadrian was surprised to see not a hint of fear or doubt in his eyes. It was only this sense of… unwavering confidence, that convinced him Hadrian was not suicidal. It actually appeared as if he _believed_, with every fiber of his being, that they could take on the dragon, Smaug.

Elrond sighed, but did not say anything more, as he focused on the map. He held it up in the air, allowing moonlight streaming in to touch the paper. "Here, written in moon runes, is your secret, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Moon runes?" Thorin inquired.

"Writing that can only be seen by the light of the moon," Harry informed him, before turning back to Lord Elrond in confusion. "But isn't moon writing only done with ithildin?"

"It is," Elrond confirmed with nod, a smile slowly forming on his lips.

Harry frowned, as he tried to remember what he had read nearly three decades ago. "But, ithildin was an alloy made using mithril by the Noldor, the second clan of elves. So… this map was made that long ago, when the elves and the dwarves were friends, or at least traded with each other freely?"

"Correct. The dwarves provided the elves with mithril, who in turn created ithildin and traded it back to the dwarves. Moon writing is their creation, Hadrian. The elves merely crafted the material to develop the art," Elrond said calmly, enjoying the chance to teach Harry something new, even after all this time. "Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season, as the day on which they were written."

"Can you read them now, or must we wait for another night?" Thorin inquired much more willingly, now that he was sure Lord Elrond had spoken truthfully, and would assist them.

"It seems you were destined to arrive in Rivendell on this day, Thorin Oakenshield, for these runes were written on a Midsummer's Eve, by the light of a crescent moon nearly 200 years ago," Elrond said, as he led them out to a platform with a crystalline table built upon it. It was perfectly positioned, amidst the many flowing waterfalls, to receive the light of the moon each night. He laid the map flat upon the table and looked up at the clouds drifting away. "And that same moon shines upon us this night."

As the clouds disappeared from view, the crescent moon was revealed in all its glory, shining light through the streams of water cascading in front of them and into the table. Almost immediately, the crystal began to glow white, and produced a beam of moonlight rising from its surface and through the map. Slowly, a small section at the bottom of the map, previously empty space, began filling up with glowing blue markings; the moon writing of the dwarves, written in ithildin with a silver pen, using ancient Cirth.

"Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole," Elrond read out to those gathered around him. For Harry's benefit, he followed each rune with his finger, so Harry would get a basic understanding of the lettering.

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo asked Balin.

"It is the start of the Dwarves' new year, when the last moon of autumn, and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together," Gandalf answered Bilbo.

"This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon is," Thorin said to the others with some concern. Erebor was still so far away from them, and time was no longer on their side.

"How long have we got left, Thorin?" Harry asked.

"A little more than two months," Thorin replied grimly.

"Then we still have time," Balin interjected. "We'd have to be standing in _exactly_ the right spot, at _exactly_ the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened. If we leave now and make full haste for Erebor, we will surely arrive in time for Durin's Day."

"Balin, we cannot leave now—" Harry protested, only to be cut off midsentence by Thorin.

"Hadrian, I understand your reluctance to leave Rivendell, but we cannot afford to wait." Thorin said, for he truly did understand. Rivendell to Hadrian was what Erebor was, and would be again, to them.

"I'm not speaking this for myself, but for the others," Harry countered emphatically. "Thorin, since the minute we set out from the Shire we've been pushing ourselves to our limits, traveling as fast as we could. But all of us, even you, even Gandalf, even I, need to rest and recover eventually. Our battle against the trolls, and the subsequent escape from the wargs, took more out of the others than you think. They are not in any shape to leave yet, but they will if you request it of them, regardless of what may happen."

Thorin frowned in frustration, but said nothing, for he knew Hadrian was right. He saw clearly the signs of exhaustion and fatigue in his kin, and noticed that more than a few of them could not hide their relief at the promise of a good night's rest after so long. "Balin, can we make it?"

Balin signed and thought about it. He too desired a good long rest, but did not doubt that he would follow Thorin to whatever end, even to a fiery death at the hands of Smaug. "We could make the journey in just over a month, assuming no undue complications, but it would be close."

"Two days, then we leave," Thorin said to Hadrian before stalking off to inform the others.

* * *

><p>Harry departed from the company of the dwarves, cooking food over a fire they had made using finely carved furniture as firewood. Not the originals, of course, but copies Harry had made using the Gemino spell. Any elf who looked at the pair side by side would be able to tell which was the fake, for its quality was diminished in comparison with the real one, but they burned just fine.<p>

He came upon Bilbo, standing at the top of a stone staircase, staring pensively at the view of Rivendell at night. "Feeling a bit homesick?" Harry asked rhetorically, for he could see the answer for himself in Bilbo's expression.

"I, well… yes, I suppose I am," Bilbo admitted. He'd found himself asking a lot of difficult questions since the start of this journey, and since he'd met Hadrian. Questions about himself and his way of life, and whether he'd made the right decision in joining along, amongst many others. Every day came with a new doubt, while Hadrian seemed to lack any at all. It would be an understatement to call Hadrian an enigma. He was a confusing mix of confidence and humility, seemingly able to weigh his every decision against his indisputable morals, and a sense of adventure that Bilbo secretly envied.

Bilbo turned a questioning gaze on the wizard. "Do you really think we can take back Erebor from the dragon?" he asked suddenly.

This time, it was Harry who looked out reflectively into the sight before them. The first stars of the evening had shown themselves, their light sparkling in the crystal clear pools of water below their perch. But Harry was seeing none of it; his mind was viewing long-past images of his world, memories he would always hold but rarely thought about in recent times.

"Maybe," Harry eventually said, with a drawn-out sigh.

"M-Maybe?" Bilbo asked, shocked to hear the first sign of doubt in Hadrian's voice. "But, I thought you told Lord Elrond that we could handle it."

"I told him I was _prepared_ for it, that I understood the risks and dangers of our undertaking," Harry corrected. A part of him said that killing a dragon would be difficult, but manageable, that it was within their ability, while another part whispered that he walked to his death alongside Thorin Oakenshield. "I can't see the future, so I don't know how this journey of ours will turn out, but I'll do my best to protect everyone all the way to the end."

"Even if that means you'd die in the process?" Bilbo pressed.

Harry chuckled mirthlessly and turned to face Bilbo, who was waiting on edge for his answer. "It's not such a bad thing, to die in defense of your friends and loved ones. I once walked to my death with the belief that I'd be saving everyone I cared about. Both of my parents sacrificed themselves to protect me, when I was only a year old. So yes, if it comes to it, I would gladly die for anyone of you."

Bilbo nodded contemplatively. "I've um, I should get some rest."

"Of course," Harry replied easily, watching Bilbo descend back down the steps, knowing he had given the hobbit quite a bit to think about. Glancing back over the edge of the staircase, he spotted Gandalf and Lord Elrond deep in discussion about the quest to Erebor, it seemed.

"I think you can trust that I know what I'm doing," Gandalf asserted.

"Do you?" Elrond asked doubtfully. "That dragon has slept undisturbed for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail, if you wake the beast?"

"And what if we should succeed?" Gandalf retorted. "If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the east will be strengthened."

"It is a dangerous move, Gandalf," Elrond cautioned.

Gandalf paused, forcing Elrond to do the same and turn to face the Gray wizard. "Dangerous for Harry, you mean? You believe that Smaug will be the end of him, that he shall not return from this venture. You are worried for his safety," Gandalf concluded softly.

"And should I not be?" Elrond demanded rhetorically, as he clasped his wrist behind his back and stared out at the flowing waters of Imladris. For a while he remained silent, and Gandalf simply stood by, waiting for the elven lord to speak. "I have come to regard Harry in the same manner that I would for Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. He lacks neither skill, nor courage, and while I fear the dragon may be beyond him, it is not my primary concern."

"Then what is it you fear, Lord Elrond, if not Smaug himself?" Gandalf inquired seriously.

"Have you forgotten so easily, Gandalf? A strain of madness runs deep in the line of Durin. Thorin's grandfather, Thror, lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear that Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall, and take everyone around him down as well?" Elrond asked.

Ah, it appeared that he'd found the heart of the matter. Lord Elrond feared for Harry's safety because of Thorin, that the dwarf would follow in the footsteps of Thror and Thrain and succumb to the sickness that had claimed their minds. "Thorin would not dare harm Harry—"

"But Harry would die for him," Elrond interrupted sharply.

Harry watched as the pair moved further into Rivendell, their conversation slowly fading away. He hadn't known Lord Elrond thought of him like that, and was deeply touched by the sentiment. He made to head back and get some rest of his own, only to find Thorin standing behind him. "How much did you hear?" Harry asked.

"Enough," Thorin replied. He clasped his hands together and stood beside the wizard, in contemplation. "When Gandalf brought out the map, my first thought was, 'Let this be a mistake. Let it be a fake, a forgery. This task... it's impossible. Why did it come to me?' I understood the magnitude of the task before me, and I could not imagine we would succeed."

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it and said nothing, allowing Thorin to continue.

"We were once a noble people, Hadrian. Not tinkers and merchants, scraping around in the dirt for copper coins, but dwarf lords. Once... we were kings." Thorin said, remembering the glory of Erebor before the arrival of that damnable fire drake.

"And those days will return, Thorin," Harry said, snapping the dwarf from his thoughts. "I gave you my word, that I would help see you through this journey to Erebor, and to reclaim your homeland. Nothing has changed that, and nothing ever will. After all, if a man is not as good as his word, then what good is that man?"

Thorin stared pensively at Hadrian, who extended out his right arm, and clasped it with his own. "I once said to Balin, that I could ask for no more than loyalty, honor, and a willing heart. In you, I have found all that and more, my friend. Will you follow me, to Erebor?"

"To the crowning of the King Under the Mountain," Harry confirmed, noticing that Thorin now stood up just a little bit straighter. "And my friends call me Harry, Thorin."

"And to the end of Smaug, Harry." Thorin finished with a smile.

So, there on the stone stairs in Rivendell, the two of them sealed their friendship, and gave their word to see the other to their journey's end.

* * *

><p>"Planning on leaving so soon, Harry?"<p>

Harry smiled, and turned around to face Lord Elrond, waiting at the door to his room. He should have expected their plan to leave early the next morning would not go unnoticed, but he'd hoped no one would find out until after they'd already put a bit of distance between themselves and the elven outpost. "Gandalf informed me about the White Council's gathering, that it was likely we'd be stopped from leaving."

"Though I question Gandalf's motives with this endeavor, I do not doubt his assessment. Saruman the White in particular would oppose your quest as a fool's errand," Elrond stated, walking into the room with Lindir following him in, carrying something in his arms. He stood before Harry, only a head taller than the wizard, and looked upon him proudly. "Gandalf will meet you at the Misty Mountains four days from now."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "You're not going to try and dissuade me from going?"

"I know that you would not be doing this, unless you believed it was the right decision," Elrond responded with a shake of his head. He motioned to Lindir, who passed over what he had been carrying in his arms. "I have two things to give you, before you leave, Harry. The first is this chainmail shirt. It is as light and flexible as silk, yet will turn aside the point of a spear as surely as dwarven plate mail. I forged it for you myself."

Harry accepted the chainmail and marveled at its craftsmanship. Unlike normal chainmail, the vest he held in his hands was composed of diamond-shaped rings, too small for even the tips of his swords to poke through. There must have been thousands of them, and he couldn't imagine how long it must have taken Lord Elrond to make something like this.

He took off his dragon hide jerkin and slipped the chainmail vest on over his silken white shirt, which he'd been given just before he'd departed from Rivendell only months ago. It fit him perfectly, and he was glad that it lacked sleeves. They would have thrown him off balance when wielding his swords, and made it harder to draw the Elder Wand from its holster, though he suspected Lord Elrond had been aware of these details.

"This… is an incredible gift, Lord Elrond. I can never replay you for all you have done for me," Harry said with a respectful bow.

"There are no debts between friends, Harry. Now, I have one more gift for you," Elrond replied, as Harry slipped the jerkin back over the chainmail. He pulled out a small silver flask, engraved with a design of horses charging out of a rushing river. "Sample it, and see if you can tell me what it is, Harry."

Harry accepted the flask, taking a brief moment to marvel at the detail in the engraving, before removing the cap to take an experimental sniff. The liquid inside was clear and colorless like water, yet smelled sweet like honey and flowers. He took a small sip and felt tingling chills course through his body, refreshing and revitalizing him. He hadn't yet eaten this morning, but now felt himself brimming with energy, as if he'd consumed a full and hearty meal. "This is miruvor," he gasped.

Elrond smiled and nodded in confirmation. "The reviving cordial the elves developed long ago, in an attempt to replicate miruvórë, the nectar of the Valar made from Yavanna's flowers. It will renew the vigor and strength of all who consume it," he said, giving Harry one last lesson. "May it serve you well."

Harry understood how rare it was for such a gift to be given to a non-elf, and stored it away in his mokeskin pouch respectfully. _"I will return safely, Lord Elrond."_

"_You will always have a home here, Harry," _Elrond promised, as he watched the man he considered like a third son walk out the door. Even now, Elrond was not sure whether Harry's claim would hold true. He had seen a future with Harry dying in defense of Erebor and the dwarves, yet he had also seen Harry alive and well, rallying elves, dwarves, and men together in battle. Indeed, the gift of foresight was fickle, sometimes unreliable, and Elrond could not be certain which future would come to pass. Only Harry's actions in the days to come would determine his fate.

* * *

><p>Done. Elvish translations are as follows:<p>

Mae g'ovannen - Well met

Gwannas lû and - A long time has passed.

Lend and? - Long journey?

Thostog sui úan - You smell like a monster.

I left them untranslated in the chapter because Thorin, Bilbo, and the others don't understand Sindarin, and that part was from their pov.

I think this chapter was so difficult for me to write, because I had set the expectations of Harry's and Elrond's interaction so high. I've been rewatching scenes of Elrond speaking to Arwen to see how he acts and speaks to someone he cares about deeply. Elves don't often show displays of emotion, but Elrond seemed to be different in that regard. I also wanted to show him as a teacher and/or mentor as well, someone maybe like Remus.

One reviewer, Kairan1979, suggested that Harry teach Bilbo some sword fighting. Originally, I was in favor of this idea, and tried to implement it in earlier drafts of this chapter, but just couldn't work it in properly without it feeling tacked on and unnecessary. Plus it always seemed like I was changing Bilbo's character too much by having him learn to fight properly.

I understand people want more divergence in canon, but the biggest changes will come in the 2nd and 3rd movie, in terms of Harry's presence, opinion, and honor coming into play. I believe I set some of the groundwork for a few of those changes in this chapter, because I didn't want there to be a lack of precedent or reasonable belief for his future actions.

Also, I want to stress this now before people ask, Harry's chainmail isn't made from mithril. It's not as durable as the one Bilbo will eventually get. But that's not to say it isn't impressive and tough. I believe that the elves made most of their best weapons and armor out of steel, though I might be wrong. Someone please confirm or deny this for me. Otherwise, assume that the chainmail vest is elvish forged steel.

As always, read and review and point out any spelling or grammar mistakes so I can fix them, please. Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything concerning Harry Potter or The Hobbit in anyway.

A lot of people have been asking whether or not I will continue this into Lord of the Rings, and the answer is yes. I am in such a huge Tolkien mood, that I will probably be working exclusively on Lonely Company for a while, maybe even until it's completed. But as I said before, once school starts again, updates will slow down.

* * *

><p>"Does it not concern you, that the last of the dwarf rings should simply vanish, along with its bearer?" Gandalf asked the members of the White Council rhetorically. "Of the seven dwarf rings, four were consumed by dragons, and two were taken by Sauron, before he fell in Mordor. The fate of the last dwarf ring remains unknown. The ring that was worn by Thrain." He noticed a slight crease in Lord Elrond's brow, and the slightest of frowns. Lady Galadriel seemed to at least be contemplating his words, which was of some comfort, though her reactions were much harder to gauge, almost impossible, even for him.<p>

"It matters not. Without the ruling ring of power, the seven are of no value to the enemy," Saruman dismissed. "To control the other rings, he needs the One. And that ring was lost long, long ago. It was swept out to sea by the waters of the Anduin."

Elrond turned and strode over, looking at Gandalf quite seriously. "Gandalf, have you truly seen enough to make these claims? Can you be certain that this danger will return to threaten the lands of Middle-Earth once more? For four hundred years we have been at peace, a hard-won, watchful peace."

"Are we? Are we at peace?" Gandalf replied incredulously. "Trolls have come down from the mountains, raiding villages and destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the road."

"Minor threats, and hardly a prelude to war," Elrond countered, though he too was starting to see signs where previously there had been none. The disappearance of Thrain, shortly before Thorin Oakenshield set out on his quest to retake Erebor from Smaug, seemed too timely to be a coincidence. Orcs hated sunlight with a passion, and would not dare move about so openly during the day unless driven by some higher purpose, which they would and _should_ lack without a leader. Without someone to command them, orcs became confused and dismayed, and were easily scattered by their enemies.

"Always you must meddle, looking for trouble where none exists," Saruman chided.

"Let him speak," Galadriel requested, though for all her power and wisdom, it might as well have been a command.

Gandalf leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together, as he locked eyes with Saruman, imploring him to see reason. "There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug, something far more powerful. We can remain blind to it, but it will not be ignoring us, that I can promise you. A sickness lies over the Greenwood. The woodsmen who live there now call it _Mirk_wood. And they say—" Gandalf paused, for he could scarcely believe the words himself. How could he expect Saruman the White to accept them?

"Well? Don't stop now. What do the woodsmen say?" Saruman prodded.

"They speak of a necromancer, living in Dol Guldur. A sorcerer who can summon the dead." Gandalf said solemnly.

"That's absurd. No such power exists in this world," Saruman denied without hesitation. "This necromancer is nothing more than a mortal man; a conjurer dabbling in black magic. And for that matter, what makes you so certain it is not this… new wizard, who has made his presence known?"

Gandalf shook his head firmly. "I assure you, that Hadrian and this necromancer share nothing in common. He was with me during the time Radagast encountered the sorcerer at Dol Guldur."

"Are you so certain? Radagast is hardly a reliable source of information, what with his constant consumption of mushrooms. They've addled his mind and yellowed his teeth. This wizard is not one of us, Gandalf. Are you so knowledgeable of his abilities, that you can say for certain he has not been utilizing black magic?" Saruman inquired sternly.

"If not Gandalf, then I will confirm that Hadrian is no threat to the free peoples of Middle-Earth," Elrond proclaimed steadfastly. "In the thirty years he has resided within Rivendell, I have never once doubted Hadrian's strength of will and character. He would sooner die, than turn his abilities on the innocent; of this, I hold no doubts." A moment after he had come to the defense of Hadrian, he spotted an indiscernible expression pass across Saruman's visage. It was only there for a fleeting moment before it faded away, as if it had never existed at all. If he had to put it to words, Elrond would have described it as a mix of intrigue and irritation, favoring the latter.

"Then I shall have to trust in your judgment of this wizard, Lord Elrond," Saruman replied neutrally. "But thirty years spent in your company, and still he travels with these dwarves? What is his heritage?"

"I have come to believe he is of Númenorean descent," Elrond answered. While it could not be denied that Harry possessed a measure of youth and vitality uncommon in the race of Men, Elrond was doubtful of the answer he had provided. After his first ten years, Elrond noticed the lack of time's passing upon the wizard and questioned him as to how such a feat was possible. All Harry had said, was that it wasn't something he could have changed, which Elrond took to mean the line from which he descended. After all, one could not choose their father and mother, or their ancestors.

But Harry carried with him a presence that spoke volumes of experience, hardships, and loss—a life thoroughly lived. Anyone could see all that and more from a single look into his eyes. No, Elrond did not believe that Harry had come to him in the prime of his life, as it had appeared so long ago. Rather, he suspected that Harry had already endured many years, and came seeking rest and peace. It was looking more and more likely that Harry had acquired a form of immortality akin to that of the elves, though how he could not say.

Of the race of Men, who would normally not know such longevity, Elrond believed there were those who would see this immortality as a boon, relishing the thought of living without end, for good or for evil. Then, there were those who would see it as a curse, forced to endure while those they loved died around them, eventually leaving them alone in the world.

Elrond wasn't sure which of the two would best describe Harry, for the immortality could see Harry living longer to do good for the world, as Elrond believed he would, but might also isolate him from his kind. No one amongst the race of Men would share his fate.

* * *

><p>Other than Harry's encounter with Lord Elrond, the company had managed to leave Rivendell without delay, and made for the Misty Mountains with full haste, arriving just after sunrise on the fourth day. The air had steadily been dropping in temperature, and storm clouds had gathered off in the distance on the morning Harry and the others arrived, yet another reminder that the season would soon change. Harry was about to suggest that they make camp and let the storm pass before ascending, but shook that thought away quickly. Gandalf would be expecting them today.<p>

Harry sympathized with Thorin's desire to reach Erebor as soon as possible and, for the sake of his friend, shared the wish to reach the Lonely Mountain, remove the threat of Smaug, and reclaim the kingdom for the dwarves. However, a part of him also dreaded the conclusion of this quest.

A restlessness had been growing in Harry over the last year. How long would he be content to live in peace at Rivendell? Day by day, Harry was finding that the only things he could do to keep himself occupied, were to practice with his blades and magic, or sift through the tomes in the archives Lord Elrond had amassed. But, what then? Even if it took several years, Harry would eventually finish poring over every dusty tome, and what then would he have left to occupy his days? He had no skill with art, poetry, or music like many of the elves at Rivendell, and no interest in learning, either.

Back in his world, Harry had **hated** that Voldemort had pursued him relentlessly, putting not only himself, but his family and his friends in danger. If he had to put an optimistic spin on it, Harry could never claim he'd been bored, save for the time spent at the Dursleys' house, waiting for his return to Hogwarts. And that was the crux of the matter.

Now that he was no longer in constantly in peril, and had the choice of living out a safe and peaceful life, Harry doubted he could actually bring himself to do so, certain that he'd drive himself crazy within several months, a year or two at most. He now _needed_ this sense of adventure, this time spent travelling to new places, battling enemies, and enjoying the company of friends on the road.

Harry supposed the only difference was that it would be on his terms, rather than being forced upon him, as Voldemort had done by taking action to prevent the prophecy from coming to fruition. It was the reason he had become an auror, and stayed on as the Head of the Auror Office; at least, until people started getting too suspicious about his seemingly endless youth.

It was well past sunset by the time they scaled the mountains and found a narrow path they could use to cross. The storm had become much worse than Harry expected, and rain fell hard from the cloud-filled sky onto their heads, alleviated slightly by the impervious charms Harry had gone and cast upon the other fourteen members of the company. Flashes of lightning and bouts of thunder ripped through the air, forcing them to shout anything that needed to be heard by the others.

"Look out!" Dwalin suddenly shouted, drawing attention to the massive chunk of rock flying overhead. It crashed into the mountain above them, sending several hundred pounds of stone crashing down, only missing their narrow path by inches.

Trying to spot what had sent such a large projectile hurtling towards them, Harry's eyes traveled across the mountain range, until they settled on the lower peak of a mountain off in the distance, as it appeared to split away seamlessly. Remaining silent for several long heartbeats, Harry watched as the mountain expanded and stretched, twisting and blending with the thick clouds into an unusual shape, almost like a neck and head. It didn't take long for Harry to realize that his eyes _weren't_ playing tricks on him, that he _was_ seeing a part of the mountain separating into a large, humanoid shape and ripping off another chunk of rock to throw.

"Well, bless me. The legends are true! Giants! Stone giants!" Bofur exclaimed, as he watched the towering figure toss the stone projectile into the air with a single arm.

Harry brought out his wand, ready to cast a protego to shield them from more falling rocks, but realized the rock had not been thrown at them this time. Turning in place, he watched as it smashed into the head of _another_ stone giant coming around the mountain range from behind them. The impact sent the creature stumbling back, though Harry couldn't begin to guess whether it felt any pain.

The giant fell back against the mountain, shaking loose more rocks from above, and this time Harry did bring up the protego, forming a shimmering white dome over the dwarves and Bilbo in the middle of the path. The large pieces of stone bounced harmlessly off the shield and into the valley below, though it brought about a new and unexpected outcome.

The path that held the fifteen of them began to split apart, separating them with a gap nearly thirty feet across. They heard a loud groaning sound and looked up, finding a third stone giant sitting up from its position against the mountain they'd been traversing. It seemed that they had been walking over its legs, and the two halves of the company were now standing on the giant's knees. They could do nothing but hold on for their lives, as it moved to enter the battle between the other two of its kind.

It had barely even stood up, before the stone giant that had been hit by a thrown boulder stepped forward and gave it a powerful head butt, knocking it back against the mountain. The giant's left knee came crashing into the side of the mountain, directly adjacent to the rest of the path it had broken away from moments ago. Taking the opportunity, Harry, Thorin, and the others on this portion of the giant rushed off of the limb and back onto the inanimate part of the mountain. The giant was already moving away, forcing Kili to jump across to the path. Thankfully, he was caught by Gloin at the edge, who hauled him up to safety with the help of Bifur.

The giant with the rest of their company ducked beneath a wide haymaker, and slammed its fist into the head of one of the giants, taking it out of the fight and sending the body collapsing into the valley. It then turned to face the only other giant standing now, just in time to receive a boulder to its head, knocking it completely off the body. It started falling back, though its knees bent forward, bringing the other dwarves closer to the mountain.

"Jump!" Thorin shouted as he watched them getting closer and closer to the rocky wall. However, the large stone leg crashed into the wall with an impact that reverberated across the mountain, nearly as loud as the thunderstorm to Thorin's ears. "No!" Thorin could only watch helplessly, as the giant pulled away and fell below them, no sign of the dwarves on its body.

Harry and Thorin ran along the path, heedless of the fact that it was barely wider than their feet and that they could have slipped off at any moment, and came upon the sight of the remaining six dwarves gathered together in a pile, alive and unharmed for the most part. "They're all right! They're alive!" Harry called back to those that followed after him and Thorin, resulting in cheers and yells of relief.

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur called out.

Harry's spun around, his eyes roaming over those along the path, until he spotted Bilbo barely hanging onto the edge at the rear of their line. Apparating himself to the open space just behind Ori, Harry bent down and grasped Bilbo's right wrist with his hands, and started pulling the hobbit up. Bilbo was more than halfway back onto the path, using his legs to push himself up, when he broke away a portion of the edge.

The path gave way beneath Harry and he slid down the side, until he was caught by Thorin, who had come running past the others after Harry's disapparition. Thorin managed to haul Harry back up onto the path single-handedly, beside a frantic Bilbo, who was desperately gasping for air as if he'd just emerged from underwater.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar," Dwalin said in relief.

"He's been lost ever since he left home," Thorin replied exceptionally harshly. Not only had the hobbit nearly gotten himself killed, but his actions had nearly put Harry in danger as well. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him, Thorin realized that Harry would have been able to fly himself back up as a falcon, a detail his mind had forgotten in his rush to save his friend. Nevertheless, it did not change his opinion of Bilbo Baggins. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

"Thorin!" Harry rebuked sharply. "Bilbo _chose_ to become our burglar, _chose_ to come with us, and chose to _stay_ with us, through everything we've been through. He has as much of a right to be here as I do."

Thorin stared hard at Harry, and then at Bilbo, who had been looking quite morose until Harry had spoken up in his defense. He shook his head and moved off without another word. He found an entrance into a cave, just past the others still piled together, that looked big enough to hold the lot of them. "Harry!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Thorin, and gave Bilbo one last pat on the shoulder to reassure the hobbit of his words, before following after the company leader. The cave was rather wide and spacious, and the floor was covered in small rocks and hot sand. "It looks safe enough for one night's rest," Harry observed.

"Search to the back. Caves in the mountain are seldom unoccupied," Thorin replied, as he moved off to bring everyone else inside.

"Lumos," Harry whispered, bringing forth a small ball of white light at the end of his wand, as he stepped into the rear of the cave, searching every nook and cranny for some sign of occupation. "No one," Harry reported to Thorin, after a thorough inspection.

Gloin pulled out a pile of wood he had brought with him from Rivendell, a stack of table and chair legs he had chopped off of Harry's gemino duplicates with his axe. Stored safely within his pack, they would have remained dry even without Harry's impervious charm. "Right then. Let's get a fire started."

"No. No fires. Not in this place," Thorin cut him off. "Get some sleep. We start at first light."

"We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us," Balin reminded him. "That was the plan told to Harry back in Rivendell."

"Plans change," Thorin replied without hesitation. "Harry, can you take the first watch?"

Harry nodded, pulling out a small silver box full of berries he had taken from the kitchen at Rivendell. He handed out the red and black berries to the dwarves, helping himself to several as well, before storing the empty container back in his mokeskin pouch. "I can," he confirmed. "How long do you need?"

Thorin paused, thinking about how he'd split up the watch for the night. "Can you give me four hours?"

Harry nodded in agreement. Whatever weariness he might feel tomorrow from exhaustion could be taken care of with a gulp of miruvor, so he saw no problem with giving the other dwarves a bit more sleep. While everyone else began to pick their spot to rest for the night, Harry transfigured a fist-sized rock into a comfortable leather chair, and took up a position by the cave's entrance, keeping a watchful eye over his friends.

* * *

><p>"Harry?"<p>

Harry glanced up and noticed Bilbo slowly, but steadily, approaching him as he tiptoed through the mass of sleeping dwarves. "You should be sleeping, Bilbo. You'll be needing the rest for tomorrow."

Bilbo finally made his way over to the wizard, who graciously conjured up another chair to match his own, though it was smaller in size as the cave was rapidly running out of space. He plopped down onto the chair, almost sinking into the comfortable leather, and smiled slightly. A chair like this reminded him of the one in front of his fireplace, back at Bag End. "Do you… do you really believe I deserve to be here?"

"I do," Harry replied without missing a beat, "because you decided for yourself to come along. On the morning we departed from the Shire, only half of us expected you to follow, but it was certainly not required. You could have stayed at home, safe and content to forget all about us, as you went on with your life. But you didn't. I won't presume to know your motives for joining back then, but I believe you've started to realize the importance of this quest to the dwarves since traveling with us."

Bilbo remained silent, staring down at his hands as he repeatedly rolled them over each other in his lap. "This mountain… it's their home, isn't it?"

"It is," Harry confirmed stoically. "Or, I should say, it was."

Bilbo nodded, having expected an answer like that. "That's why it's important that we succeed. My home is at Bag End, with my books, my armchair, and my garden. Yours is… at Rivendell?" he asked for confirmation.

Harry rubbed his chin in thought. "Yes, Rivendell is to me, what Bag End is to you," he said after several long moments. A part of him would always remember Hogwarts as the place he had called home, his escape from the Dursleys' house, but Rivendell was where he now felt _at_ home.

"And what Erebor is to them," Bilbo continued, motioning to the dwarves laying at their feet with his hands. Harry, following the motion of the hobbit's arm spotted Thorin watching them silently, one eye cracked upon from his position against the wall to Harry's right. He remained silent about the dwarf's observation, and allowed Bilbo to continue speaking. "I have a place to call home, you have a place to call home, but they don't. It was taken from them. And… that's not right. Everyone deserves a place to call home, so with what little I can do, I will help them take it back if I can."

Bilbo looked up from the sight of his hands to meet Harry's gaze, and found the wizard staring at him with a proud smile and a great deal of respect. He couldn't help the smile he developed as a result. With Harry, anytime he showed someone a measure of respect, it always seemed like they'd earned it, which made it all the more desirable.

"Never doubt your right to be here again," Harry ordered, though his tone of voice made it sound more like advice from one friend to another. He opened his mouth to further reassure Bilbo, but stopped when he noticed Bilbo staring at him with a frown. Harry looked down at his belted swords, Elvir and Ithilur, and immediately discerned the cause of his concern. At the crease where the blades' guard sat on the scabbards, there was a line of blue light emanating out. For as long as he'd carried the blades, Harry had never seen them glow like this, but Lord Elrond had made sure he'd know what it meant, should it ever happen.

Harry grasped Elvir's hilt and drew the sword out just a bit, bathing his hand in bright blue light. "Wake up! Everyone, get up!" Harry shouted, as he slammed Elvir back into its scabbard. Only moments after the dwarves began to stir, did the cave floor drop down from beneath them, depositing them down into a tunnel where they slid down some unknown distance. Harry had felt the slight rumbling and shifted into his animagus form just in time, for the floor beneath him and Bilbo had also dropped away. While he was now flying in place over the trap doors, the hobbit had not been so lucky, and went tumbling down with the dwarves.

The doors resealed themselves several moments later, though Harry could still hear his friends far below, yelling and shouting at some enemy they were facing. He looked around the cave and was relieved that all of their possessions, including weapons, had dropped as well. At least they were armed. He shifted back into his human form and snapped out the Elder Wand, aiming it at the floor a little bit ahead of him. It wouldn't be a good idea to blow his feet off in the process of destroying the trap doors.

"Vercundus!" Harry jabbed his wand down, sending a dark bronze beam shooting out from the tip of his wand and into the stone. The trap doors were blown apart with a dull ringing sound echoing off the walls, similar to a gong. Storing the wand back into its holster, Harry withdrew Elvir and Ithilur in reverse grips and jumped down into the tunnels, pushing the tips of his swords down. The strength of the elvish-crafted mithril ensured that the blades would remain undamaged while Harry used them like ski poles, keeping him upright as his feet slid down along the unusually smooth rock in the tunnel.

He dropped down from the end of the tunnel into some kind of domed iron cage, perched on a natural rocky platform that hung over a great abyss. Gathering his bearings, he just managed to see Bilbo extracting his blade from the chest of some kind of creature, before losing his balance and falling backwards off the edge of the wooden bridge. Harry apparated forward, dropping Ithilur from his right hand onto the floor and reached out to try and grab Bilbo's hand but missed it by a frustratingly small distance.

Harry peered over the edge, but saw only darkness. He couldn't tell how far the drop was, but without a clear destination, Harry couldn't apparate down to Bilbo. He glanced over at the small goblin Bilbo had slain. In the moment before Bilbo fell, Harry saw quite clearly that this thing had been distracted by his sudden appearance, giving even inexperienced Bilbo Baggins a perfect opportunity to finish it off. It seemed that their burglar had found his resolve.

* * *

><p>Bilbo blinked his eyes open. His hands immediately flew to his chest as he sat up, checking himself over for any injuries, but surprisingly, found none. Looking around, it seemed as if the mushroom patch he'd landed in had cushioned the impact from his fall enough to keep him unharmed. He stood up slowly, pulling out his blade from beneath the mushrooms, no longer glowing blue as he'd killed the only goblin nearby, and was about to sheath it until he heard a guttural growling sound coming from behind him.<p>

Turning around and brandishing his sword shakily, Bilbo found himself staring at some kind of hideous abomination crawling towards him on all fours. Looking closer, the creature appeared to be a small, extremely thin and wiry person, with a scrawny neck, faded gray skin, flat feet, long thin hands with clammy fingers, and large blue eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. It had a few strands of thin hair on its otherwise bald head, and, if not for the brown loincloth around its waist, would be completely nude.

"Bless us and splash us, precious. That's a meaty mouthful," it murmured, staring at Bilbo with an intensity that worried the hobbit. It started crawling over towards Bilbo, carrying a presence like a predator, but was stopped as Bilbo held out his sword, the tip lightly pressing into the creature's skin, just below the neck. "Gollum, gollum!" It hacked out, backing away from the blade.

"I am not for eating," Bilbo stated more firmly than he was holding his sword. As the creature retreated further back, it hacked out that same sound twice more, gollum. It was obvious this thing wasn't a goblin, as his sword remained unlit, so he decided to just call it Gollum, for lack of another, proper name.

"It's got an elfish blade, but it's not an elfs," Gollum whispered, pacing back and forth in front of the hobbit on all fours, staring hard at his arms and legs in a way that Bilbo assumed was assessing his potential flavor. "What is it, precious? What is it?"

"My name is Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo stated, watching the creature carefully, never once lowering his sword.

"Bagginses? What is a Bagginses, precious?" Gollum asked softly, staring up at Bilbo with curiosity, though it did little to conceal the desire to eat him.

"I'm a hobbit from the Shire," Bilbo answered, starting to calm down now that he seemed to have the upper hand in this situation.

"Oh. We like goblinses, batses, and fishes, but we hasn't tried hobbitses before," Gollum exclaimed cheerfully, as if describing the varieties of pipe-weed one liked to smoke to a fellow hobbit. "Is it soft? Is it juicy?" Gollum growled out.

Just as Bilbo was about to start waving his sword again to ward Gollum off, a shrieking cry pierced the air above him, bringing forth a relieved grin on the hobbit's face. Harry was flying down to find him! "Unfortunately, you won't get a chance to find out."

But Gollum had ignored him entirely, his attention also drawn skyward by the sound of a bird in the caves. Birdses were almost as good as fishes, when he could catch them. He spotted the black-feathered bird descending down rapidly towards him and was about to snatch it out of the air, when it pulled up and transformed into a man, dropping to the ground with a crouch.

"Stupefy!" Harry fired off the crimson red beam that had become so familiar to him into the creature's chest, sending it hurtling away from Bilbo and into the far wall. At the moment the body crashed into the wall, a small golden ring flew out of the brown loincloth and bounced off the rocks, until it rolled down and came to a stop at Harry's feet.

"Bilbo, are you all right?" Harry asked, as he bent down to pick up the golden ring. It was a simple piece of jewelry, lacking any distinguishing markings or gems to adorn it. But judging from how heavy it felt in his hand, Harry was sure that a fair amount of gold had been used to forge this ring.

"Yes, I'm alright. You couldn't have arrived at a better time. Well, you could have, but I'm satisfied all the same." Bilbo replied, sheathing his sword and wiping his sweaty palms onto his pants. Now was _definitely_ not the time to be complaining about the lack of a handkerchief. "Did you kill him?" Bilbo asked, motioning to the fallen… Gollum.

"No, just knocked him out." Harry answered, observing the unconscious body of the creature that had been threatening Bilbo. And he'd thought the goblin looked disgusting. "He'll be up in a few hours, though I'm hoping we'll be out of these mountains long before then."

Bilbo nodded in understanding. He spotted a glint of gold in Harry's hands and stepped over to get a better look. "What's that?"

"A ring. Probably taken from someone this thing's killed," Harry answered, turning the ring over in his hands, trying to find anything special about it other than its gold content.

"And eaten, no doubt," Bilbo put forth, feeling sorry for whatever poor fellow wound up as a victim to be devoured by Gollum. "Well, to the victor go the spoils, right?" A part of him believed that ring, simple and plain, yet elegant all the same, would have suited him perfectly, but he was hardly going to ask for it after Harry had saved him from becoming dinner. Which was why Bilbo was so surprised that the ring was suddenly tossed to him. "You're giving it to me? Why?"

Harry held up his right hand, revealing a silver ring on his right middle finger. The band was thick, and engraved with a large 'P' on a shield, though the spine of the letter was jagged, resembling the lightning bolts he had seen illustrated in some of his books. The main focus of the ring, however, was the diamond-shaped stone, completely black in color, and held on by four small silver prongs. Looking into the stone, Bilbo could see a unique design within: a triangle bordering a circle with a line running down the center.

"I've already got one," Harry said quietly. "And believe me, just this one is more than enough for me. I'm not really one to wear rings, but this was my father's wedding ring, though the original diamond was lost years ago."

"So… so you don't want this one?" Bilbo asked to make sure, holding up the golden ring for Harry to see.

"No, you can keep it." Harry said with a shake of his head. "Who knows? Maybe it'll bring you good luck. Come on, try it on."

Bilbo chuckled good-naturedly, thinking that he could use a bit of good luck right about now, as he slipped the ring onto his right index finger. Suddenly, the world around him shifted, and he heard Harry gasp in shock. Everything was now in shades of gray, and the edges and outlines of solid objects flickered like flames. Looking up at his friend, he was confused when he saw Harry looking not at him, but at everywhere else in the cave.

"Wicked. That ring turned you invisible," Harry stated into the empty space where the hobbit had once stood. Who would have guessed that such a magical object would be found in the clutches of such a foul creature? Bilbo suddenly reappeared in front of him, the ring held in the fingers of his left hand after he had removed it.

"You really couldn't see me?" Bilbo asked in disbelief.

"Not at all," Harry confirmed with a grin. "And it wasn't that you blended into your surroundings, like a chameleon. It was true invisibility, completely undetectable. Looks like our burglar just found himself a useful tool to break into a mountain."

Bilbo stared at the ring held in his fingers with no small amount of awe and slipped it into his pocket. With this, he could prove his use to Thorin and the others. He wouldn't be a burden to carry, but a contributing member of the company. "Thanks, Harry. But how do we get back up?"

"Oh well that's simple. Getting back up will be easier than getting down was, well, faster at least," Harry said nonchalantly. He took a firm hold of Bilbo's shoulder with his right hand, picturing the area he'd descended from in his mind. "This will be easier on you if you hold on tightly."

Heeding the wizard's advice, Bilbo reached up his hands and held onto Harry's arm tightly. A moment later, he shut his eyes tightly when he felt a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation, as if he was being folded and compressed from all directions, before being forced through a tube entirely too small to fit his body.

When Bilbo opened his eyes, he found that they were back on top, standing beside the wooden bridge he had fallen off of, with the dead goblin at his feet. He stumbled out of Harry's grasp and fell to his hands and knees, taking several deep breaths intermixed between several dry heaves. "I thought you said it would be easier if I held on," Bilbo said accusingly between breaths, though it lacked any real anger.

"It was. Done improperly, apparition can result in splinching: the accidental severing of random body parts," Harry replied with a cheeky smirk. He snapped off a calming charm at Bilbo's back when it seemed like the hobbit might faint. This was neither the time nor place for that. "It always feels uncomfortable the first few times though, and there's nothing I can do about that. Now come on, we've got some dwarves to rescue."

* * *

><p>Harry and Bilbo had proceeded on along the walkway, only for a goblin to leap down before them, brandishing a crude wooden spear with a long iron head attached to the end. The goblin charged straight towards Harry, initially leading in with the butt of its weapon, before spinning it over in a brutal thrust, aiming to score a quick kill.<p>

To Harry, who had spent three decades under the tutelage of Lord Elrond Half-elven, the goblin's charge seemed like the most basic of attack routines, with no subtlety or finesse, and certainly no threat to his life. After experiencing the skillful blade work from the Lord of Rivendell firsthand, Harry was a bit disappointed to be confronted in such a straightforward manner for his first real melee battle, as he quickly drew Elvir and Ithilur from their sheaths. He spun his swords clockwise in front of him, striking the thrusting spear twice in succession, and drove the weapon's tip well above the striking line of its wielder's shoulder.

The aggressive goblin, stunned by the advanced parry, found itself off balance and vulnerable. Barely a split second later, before the goblin could even hope to recover, Harry's counter stabbed Elvir, then Ithilur into the creature's chest, both blades emerging from out of its back. Harry withdrew his blades, allowing the goblin to slump to the ground, and flicked most of the blood from his blades with two flowing swings. He wiped the remainder off on the goblin's loincloth, but kept them out of their scabbards for now.

Bilbo barely managed to stop his jaw from falling. The entire skirmish, if it could be called as such, took no more than four seconds, at most. "Harry, that was…"

Harry chuckled modestly. "Goblins aren't exactly the most skilled fighters, it seems. You really haven't seen me at my best yet, not even close." Harry and Bilbo pressed on, and though they heard the clanging of metal and the clamoring of voices echoing off in the many shadowed tunnels, no other goblins showed themselves before the duo. "There must be a lot of side tunnels leading off from the main passage. We just have to find the right one," Harry reasoned to Bilbo, who nodded in agreement with his friend's logic.

They found the tunnel as Harry had predicted, leading up in a steep slope that curved around a corner. Though they couldn't see where it led, the both of them clearly heard voices coming down that could only belong to the dwarves. Harry led the way up, peeking around the corner cautiously, only to find that the tunnel ended not to far above him in a wide hole from which Harry could hear a loud, solitary voice speaking to the dwarves, though little else.

Harry and Bilbo made their way up and stopped just short of the opening, finding themselves high above the main chamber. Down in the center was an enormous goblin, wearing a crown made from tied together bones, and carrying a large staff with a ram's skull mounted on top. All around the cavern, standing on wooden walkways and platforms, were hundreds of goblins, all remaining respectfully silent for their king, save for certain moments where he would insult Thorin and the others.

Harry watched on patiently, as his friends were searched and disarmed of their weapons. A large bulging sack was pulled from Nori and emptied at their feet, revealing a great deal of gold and silver pieces stolen from Rivendell, mostly goblets and silverware. Harry palmed his face in frustration, as the goblin king picked up and tossed away a golden candelabra from the pile. "Nori…" he sighed.

"Harry, what are we going to do?" Bilbo asked, staring down at the two dozen goblins surrounding Thorin and the others.

Harry laid the swords down on the rock and pulled out his wand, holding it at his throat. "I'm going to put on a show of force, so to speak. You may want to cover your ears. Sonorus! **Hear me, goblin king, those dwarves you hold are my friends. Let them go now, or face the consequences!**"

The goblin king glanced up, searching around Goblin Town for the source of the loud, commanding voice, to no avail. There was no telling where it originated from; it seemed to roar from the walls themselves. He glared down at the dwarves before him, who now had the gall to smirk in triumph, as if they had victory within their grasp. "And who is it that you've brought to come save you? Hmm? Who would dare issue commands to me, in my kingdom?" The goblin king demanded.

"A wizard," Balin shouted up at the monstrosity that would call himself a king.

"A wizard?" the goblin king scoffed. "An obvious lie. No dwarves could acquire the service of a wizard. It is a trick! You are nothing more than a lone dwarf who managed to scurry free, and now attempt to scare me into compliance! Hah! I will not submit against such falsehoods."

Harry chuckled to himself, the sound thundering out into the cavern, and sounding far more insulting and ominous as a result. "**Oh, I do so hate to be called a liar, goblin king. I will enjoy proving you wrong. ****Voco Levitium!**" From the tip of Harry's wand, a bolt of bright white lightning surged out and soared across the chamber, blasting apart an entire walkway of goblins. While the burned and charred bodies fell into the abyss far below, what little remained of the walkway itself crashed into the wooden platform below it, snapping it off the stone wall. Like a set of horizontal dominoes, the platforms came crashing down, taking another with it, until the entire side had been cleared away.

Harry canceled the sonorus charm on his voice and slid his blades back into their sheaths, as he summoned out a small black satchel from his mokeskin pouch.

Bilbo, who had been forced to shield his eyes from the light, was now gaping in shock at the amount of damage Harry had managed to inflict upon the goblins. There had to have been several dozen of the creatures arranged _just_ on that wall, and _all_ of them had been dealt with swiftly. He felt Harry's arm gripping his shoulder and groaned, knowing what was coming.

"Get your sword ready," Harry whispered as he threw the satchel of Peruvian Darkness Powder down towards the bridge holding the dwarves and the goblins guarding them. Harry engraved the sight of the bridge in his mind, and apparated himself and Bilbo down onto the bridge a moment before the powder. A black cloud obscured everything in sight, and nearly all of the goblins simply ran off the bridge in their panic.

As the powder began dissipating, Harry fired a silent percutio into the belly of a goblin unknowingly running towards him, the piercing spell ripping straight through the body without slowing down. Beside him, Bilbo had waited until the darkness powder had cleared up _just_ enough for him to see, stabbing the chest of one goblin, while slicing through the neck of another while they were scrambling around in fear.

As the air finally cleared up, Thorin was treated to the sight of three dead goblins at his feet, and no sign of the others. Standing before him was Harry and—to his surprise—Bilbo, wielding a bloody sword.

"Bilbo killed two," Harry responded to the unanswered question.

The hint of a rare smile and a small amount of respect found its way onto Thorin's face. "His two to your one? You're slipping, Harry."

"Nonsense!" Harry retorted. "I scored more than triple that earlier, and decided to let Bilbo get a bit of practice in."

Thorin shook his head, slightly impressed with the hobbit's actions despite himself, though he wasn't about to go telling Master Baggins that. He picked up Orcrist and shouted for the others to grab their own weapons as well, while Harry walked forward to stand before the goblin king.

"So, come down to face me in person, hmm? Here to settle things with a fair fight?" The goblin king blustered, regaining some of his confidence, now that he saw the wizard in person.

"Deprimo," Harry said, aiming his wand at the goblin king's feet. The sound of splintering and cracking was heard, as the platform began to give way. Harry met the goblin king's fearful gaze, as he glanced up from the rapidly weakening wood beneath his feet. "Where, in these filth-infested tunnels, did you get the idea that I would fight fair?"

The wood finally gave way, sending the goblin king falling down into the blackness below, his scream echoing back up off the walls until it faded away. Harry turned back to the company, and frowned when he saw them standing still. "Are you waiting for something? We have to go!"

That snapped the dwarves and Bilbo out of their stupor, following after Harry as he led them across a wooden bridge to their right. The remaining goblins in the cavern began descending from their platforms to chase the escaping prisoners, quickly catching up and streaming along the bridge towards the group. Harry sent a banishing charm into the charging mass of goblins, blowing them off either side of the bridge and clearing the way for them to proceed.

Several of the pathways intersected, forming wooden crossroads where goblins could rush in from multiple directions. Harry slid forward on his knees, bending over backwards, as a goblin leading his pack ran in from the left. The iron sword the goblin was wielding passed over his face, only about two inches above him. In the brief moment when Harry emerged from his slide, he slid the Elder Wand back into its holster and drew out Ithilur, coming up into a spinning crouch as his blade sliced through the legs of the goblin. Elvir then took its head from its neck, right before Harry cut the ropes connecting the bridge to this section, sending the remaining goblins hollering on the way down.

By now the fifteen member company had separated into three levels out of necessity. Thorin led Bilbo, Ori, Kili and Fili along the uppermost walkway, cutting through archers aiming down at the others, and aptly proving that his sword's name was well-earned. Arrows were flying over his shoulders, fired by Kili, who was taking out several goblins long before they ever reached his uncle. A trio of the creatures swung down towards the walkway, though Kili shot two of them down in the air. The last landed on the platform behind Thorin, but was cut down by Bilbo before it raised its pickaxe. Thorin turned around in time to see the goblin tumbling over the side from Bilbo's slash, and gave the hobbit a grateful nod, before leading his group onwards.

Oin, previously in the middle of the group, now led Gloin, Nori, Balin, Bofur, and Bombur along the path directly above Harry. The wizard was surprised to see the elderly dwarf putting his battle staff to good use when the group came upon a four-way section. Standing alone in the center, Oin spun the staff around in circles, bashing in goblin skulls as they attacked him from all sides. The other three dwarves were following Harry's example and cut the bridges loose, reducing the flow of goblins heading their way.

While Harry led the remaining dwarves along the walkways, aiming more to push the goblins off the edges than kill them outright at the moment, the other two groups dropped down beside them, reuniting the company once more. They all sprinted onto a platform held up only by a set of ropes at each corner, and severed the ties to the walkway behind them, sending them swinging out wildly. Acting like a pendulum, the platform swung all the way over to the far side, where most of the dwarves leapt off, but the rest were forced to remain as it returned to the opposite end, allowing goblins to join them.

Harry's blades worked in perfect harmony, fending off the goblins and sending them to their deaths over the sides, as the platform swung back over. He made sure Bilbo and the others got off first, before simply apparating over and slicing through the ropes, dropping the entire thing into the great chasm.

On and on they ran, losing track of how many goblins they cut down in their search for an exit, until they came to a precariously perched wooden bridge. Before they'd made it more than halfway across, the goblin king burst up through the bottom and stood menacingly before the group. Goblins closed in from in front and behind them, cutting off them off completely.

"You thought you could escape me?" The goblin king asked, as he slammed his staff onto the bridge, forcing Harry to backpedal in order to avoid getting crushed. "Well… what are you going to do now wizard?"

Before Harry could move in to finish him, a blindingly bright globe of white light pulsed out, throwing back all the goblins gathered around them. Only a few avoided getting sent over the edge, the goblin king himself, included.

When Harry managed to open his eyes again, he saw Gandalf approaching from behind the goblin king, staff and Glamdring in hand. "I believe you were told to await my coming in the mountains, Harry."

"We ran into some unforeseen complications," Harry responded, stabbing both Elvir and Ithilur into the goblin king's stomach while he'd been distracted. As the goblin king sunk to his knees, Harry sent Elvir cutting in beneath the bulbous chin swinging back and forth, slicing clean through his neck. The now deceased goblin crumpled onto the wooden bridge with enough force to break apart the entire structure.

The section of the bridge started descending, and Gandalf was forced to jump down to join them, as it began sliding down along the rocky slope, crashing through other walkways in its wake, until it eventually slowed to a halt between a narrow stone pass, dropping to the ground rather calmly. Harry extracted himself from the pile of broken lumber and shook the dust free from his person.

"That went rather well," Harry said. He flipped Elvir and Ithilur over in his hands, aligning them perfectly with their scabbards, and slid them away. A moment later, the giant carcass of the goblin king came crashing down atop the remains of the bridge, drawing out loud grunts and groans of pain from the dwarves.

* * *

><p>With the remaining goblins streaming down the slope after them, Gandalf and Harry had led the others out of the mountain and into daylight, where they knew the goblins would not follow. They ran down the forested hill, never once stopping despite their exhaustion, until the entire company made it to the bottom.<p>

"Is that everyone?" Harry asked, bending over and setting his hands on his knees, as he gasped for breath.

Gandalf counted off the company one by one, and ended with Bilbo, who had to lean against a tree to support himself, unused to so much running at one time. "Yes, everyone is here." Gandalf was about to suggest that they rest here for the night, to allow everyone a chance to recover their strength, until the howl of a warg pack cut through the evening air.

"Out of the frying pan," Thorin muttered.

"And into the fire," Harry finished, pulling several of the dwarves to their feet where they had collapsed. "Run!"

The growls and snarls coming from the wargs belied their actual distance, for one moment Harry would see nothing but trees behind them, and the next would have him spotting patches of fur blurring through the forest. The sun had set sometime while they were being pursued, and Harry nearly swore when he discovered they'd been herded towards a cliff.

"Up into the trees! All of you!" Gandalf ordered, before he started ascending up the branches himself. The company of sixteen people had only just made it up into the trees when the wargs stormed into the area. They separated from one group into many, clawing at the three trees holding them all. Gandalf extended out his staff, beckoning an orange butterfly onto the top of the gnarled wood, and whispered to it a command in Sindarin. As Gandalf set the butterfly off, he knew they needed to hold on long enough for help to arrive.

All the wargs suddenly halted their actions, when a pair of orcs riding wargs stepped up onto a rocky outcropping. The warg on the left had white fur, and its orc rider was pale-skinned to match. Instead of a left hand, there was a sinister looking metal claw attached to the stub, and a heavy mace was grasped in the right hand.

The warg beside it had dark brown fur, but the orc riding it was nearly as pale as its partner. This orc had straps of metal bolted into its skull and wore jagged metal shoulder plates with severed animal claws attached to the back of them, along with several curved pieces of metal embedded into its chest. He carried an even more deadly-looking mace, the end of which was sharpened to a point.

"Azog… it cannot be," Thorin muttered in disbelief.

"And his scum of an offspring, Bolg!" Balin remarked, pointing towards the second orc.

Azog bent forward and made a show of taking a deep sniff of the air. _**"Do you smell it, Bolg? The scent of fear is ripe in the air. I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin, son of Thrain."**_

Bolg snarled in agreement, staring up at the dwarves cowering in trees. _**"Fear will only make the dwarf flesh taste all the sweeter." **_

Azog raised his mace, pointing it directly at Thorin Oakenshield. _**"That one is mine. Kill the rest."**_ With the command finally given, the wargs rushed in and began ramming into the tree trunks, clawing away at the bark, and jumping up to snap their jaws at the dangling feet of their prey or rip away branches entirely.

The combined weight of so many wargs eventually proved to be too much for the trees, and they were soon uprooted, tilting over towards the rest. One by one, the wargs knocked over every tree, forcing the dwarves to jump off just before they fell, until sixteen people were now crowded into the last tree on the cliff. The wargs crowded around the base, attempting to repeat their previous actions, until a flaming pine cone was flung down into their midst, forcing them to step back in fear. "Harry, scare them off with fire!"

Heeding Gandalf's advice, Harry brought out his wand and released a powerful jet of flame down towards the wargs, waving it back and forth to cover a wider area. When the flame caught onto the fur of one warg, who spread it to its companions from panic, the rest all bolted, and not even Azog could order them to stay. The dwarves all began to cheer and yell out insults towards the remaining orcs and wargs, though their premature celebrations finished the warg's work and uprooted the tree.

It was pure luck that prevented the tree from falling over completely, though it now hung precariously over the cliff's edge. Ori was shaken loose from his branch and fell, though managed to catch Dori's leg on the way down. The added weight loosened Dori's grip and he too began to fall, until Gandalf caught the pair of dwarves on his staff.

Thorin, hearing the sound of mocking laughter emanating from the orcs, turned to see Azog with a malicious smirk on his face. Enough was enough, he decided. It was time to put an end to Azog the Defiler once and for all. He stood up and drew out Orcrist, as he made his way along the nearly horizontal tree trunk and past the flames left over from Harry's spell. The oaken branch that once saved his life had been converted into a gauntlet, now covering Thorin's entire left forearm. He would have Azog die with the memory of his oaken shield.

Brandishing his sword, Thorin charged across the space towards Azog, who urged his white warg into the air. Just as the beast was about to slam into Thorin, a bright blue beam shot through the air and into the warg's side, throwing it against the trunk of a tree and forcefully dismounting the pale orc.

Thorin turned around to see Harry steadily descending the tree, wand spinning between his fingers. "Harry, Azog is mine, and mine alone."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm well aware of that," Harry reassured his friend. "But his misbehaving pet is not."

Azog glared at the man who had interrupted his fight and turned towards his warg, only to find it dead, with blood leaking out of its mouth. _**"Bolg, kill the man!"**_

Harry turned to face the other pale orc, who was now charging him on his own warg. "Inilendio!" Harry shouted, sending the yellow bludgeoning curse directly into the warg's skull, completely pulverizing it. The warg dropped dead, and continued to slide along the ground, but Bolg merely leapt off of his dead mount and raised his mace high into the air, intent on smashing it into him.

Harry only just rolled out of the way, as Bolg's mace slammed into the ground with a tremendous amount of force. Despite his size and stature, Bolg was not a slow opponent and was already pressing the offense against Harry, swinging his heavy mace with ease. At such close distance, Harry decided to reholster his wand, lest it get snapped in the scuffle, and draw out his blades. With both Elvir and Ithilur in hand, Harry bore in, his swords whirling, stabbing, and slicing high and low too fast for the orc to deflect both at the same time.

Orc blood trickled out from many small wounds, but Bolg seemed able to shake off the injuries from the slender elven blades as no more than a discomfort. The heavy mace arced down, and though Harry was able to redirect its path, the effort nearly numbed his arm. The orc swung his mace around once more, and this time Harry was able to spin out of its killing sweep. The sudden movement left the overbalanced Bolg stumbling and open to a counter. Harry didn't hesitate, driving Elvir deep into the orc's right side.

Bolg howled in agony, and delivered a backhanded swing with his mace in retaliation. Harry had assumed his last strike to be fatal, and was thus caught unaware as the mace smashed into his ribs and launched him into the air, falling hard onto the ground several feet away. The orc quickly charged after him, meaning to finish off his dangerous opponent before the man could regain his footing.

Despite the painful throbbing now present in his chest, Harry managed to roll to his feet and halt the mace's progression with Elvir set firmly beneath the steel head. His mace helplessly locked above his head, the stunned orc could not stop his momentum before he impaled himself upon Harry's other blade, Ithilur. Still Bolg glared at this man despite his grievous injuries, and made to swing his mace again.

No longer surprised by the orc's abnormal strength and resilience, Harry made sure to keep his guard up this time. He sent Elvir slicing up along the orc's chest, from right hip to left shoulder, while he retracted Ithilur and stepped back. The mace dropped to the ground, as Bolg was clutching at his wounds in agony. Harry was so focused on Bolg, waiting to see if the orc would continue to attack, that he missed the warg darting in and knocking him to the ground. The orc rider on top helped Bolg up and onto the warg behind him, quickly retreating from the battle.

Harry leapt to his feet, intending to stop the warg bearing Bolg away, almost certain that the orc's wounds would not prove fatal, but found the world spinning. A sharp spasm of pain raced up along his side, and Harry suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He crumpled to his knees, and collapsed into darkness.

* * *

><p>Much like the towering trees had toppled over into each other earlier, Thorin Oakenshield and Azog the Defiler threw themselves together. Each swung their own weapon, sword and mace, but those seemed nearly inconsequential when compared to the sheer power of their bodies colliding. They grappled and struggled fiercely, and Azog's metal claw came up to cut the dwarf across the cheek, but if Thorin even felt it, he didn't show it.<p>

Instead, the dwarf drove in harder with his elbow, forcing Azog to break free from the grapple. Tucking in his left shoulder, Thorin plowed ahead with his oaken shield in a sudden and brutal tackle. He collided with the pale orc and sent him flying backward, almost landing into the intensely burning fires surrounding them.

Azog dug his claw into the ground and pushed himself to his feet, right arm descending upon Thorin with a tremendous downward chop of his heavy mace. Even with his shield in perfect position to block, Thorin should have been crushed by that blow. His arm should have shattered from the strength of the pale orc.

But he wasn't, and it didn't, and Thorin's countering sweep with Orcrist had Azog twisting frantically to avoid being gutted. On came Thorin, accepting another heavy hit against his indomitable shield, as he continued to slash forward with Orcrist. Azog rammed his mace into Thorin again, but the shield would not break. He then took the weapon in both hand and claw and met the swinging sword with his mighty mace.

Thorin grit his teeth and managed to force the orc back. The two fighters matched blows, weapon to weapon, to see who would slip up first. Roaring with rage, screaming for the orc to pay with its life for the deaths of his grandfather and father, Thorin swung mightily with Orcrist… and missed.

And while he was overbalanced, Azog took his chance and had his mace rising like an uppercut, smashing into Thorin's shoulder and sending the dwarf spinning to the ground. As he tried to rise on his hands and knees, Azog smashed his mace into Thorin's chest, knocking the dwarf back to the ground, several feet away, landing beside Harry's unconscious body, and did not get up again.

Azog, breathing heavily and bleeding from more than a few wounds, smirked in triumph at the sight of Thorin Oakenshield defeated. He walked back over to another orc and shoved him off of his warg, before immediately taking his place. _**"Bring me their heads. Thorin Oakenshield will die like his line, and the man will die for Bolg."**_

Back on the tree, Bilbo watched in horror as the orc stalked over to the fallen pair, pulling out a wicked looking blade from its belt. That orc was going to kill Thorin and Harry, and there was nothing he could do to help.

_It's not such a bad thing, to die in defense of your friends…_

Bilbo remembered Harry's words back at Rivendell and slowly stood up, drawing out his sword. He saw Thorin struggling to reach Orcrist as the orc held the blade over his neck, taking a few practice swings before attempting the real thing. He started running down the tree, unnoticed by all the orcs, as they were completely focused on the execution of the dwarf and man.

_I would gladly die for anyone of you._

With a furious yell, Bilbo barreled into the orc, pinning it to the ground, as he repeatedly stabbed his sword into its chest. When he was sure it was dead, Bilbo pulled his blade free and moved to stand before Harry and Thorin, staring down the remaining orcs with his sword held aloft. "You shall not have them."

There were more than enough to kill him, Bilbo knew, but he wasn't going to let these monsters take them without a fight. As the wargs began approaching them, nearly all the remaining dwarves charged in and began driving them away from Bilbo, their weapons biting deeply into warg flesh.

One orc tried to rush in at him, and Bilbo met the charge with a shout, slashing his sword down twice through each of the warg's eyes, before finishing it off with a stab up though the jaw. When the warg collapsed dead, the orc made to run at him, only to be shot through the side of the head by Kili. He tripped over a root in relief and fell to the ground beside Harry and Thorin, just as Azog turned towards him. The pale orc began steadily approaching the one who had denied him the death of Thorin Oakenshield, until a piercing cry rang through the air.

Giant eagles began swooping in, lifting up wargs and dropping them off the cliff, knocking trees over onto wargs and orcs, and fanning the flames with their wings, forcing the enemies away from the group of dwarves surrounding Bilbo, Thorin and Harry.

Azog stared at the fallen duo longingly, before snarling and urging his warg back into the forest, lest he be attacked by the eagles.

Bilbo could only watch in amazement as the eagles picked up the dwarves in their talons, dropping them down onto the backs of other eagles flying beneath them. He saw an eagle swoop in, gently lifting Thorin and Harry into the air, one in each talon, and carried them off. He noticed the oaken shield and twin elvish blades belonging to Thorin and Harry respectively left behind and gathered them up in his arms just as he too was grabbed and deposited onto the back of another eagle.

Even as Bilbo glanced around, spotting the other dwarves atop eagles that flew beside him, he couldn't allow himself to relax, for both Harry and Thorin were still sorely wounded. The eagles bore them well through the night, setting them down carefully atop a solitary mountain peak in a valley just as the sun had risen.

As soon as he was able, Gandalf rushed over to the fallen forms of Thorin and Harry and set a hand upon each of their brows, urging them to wake with whispered Quenya. Slowly but surely, they regained consciousness, and were able to stand, though Harry had to lean heavily upon Gandalf's arm to remain upright.

Thorin spotted Bilbo standing a little ways away from the group and started approaching the hobbit slowly. Harry made to stop him, but Thorin shrugged off the arm on his shoulder. "Master Baggins, did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? And that you had no place amongst us?"

Bilbo gulped, but refused to look away from Thorin's gaze.

"I have never been so wrong in all my life," Thorin said, embracing and acknowledging Bilbo as his friend.

Harry chuckled, only wincing slightly from the pain and locked eyes with Bilbo, giving him an approving nod.

Bilbo smiled, hesitantly returning the embrace. Like with Harry, respect from Thorin felt well and truly deserved, and so he was pleased that he had actually managed to earn it. It was an incredible feeling, and only validated Harry's belief that he deserved to be here.

Thorin pulled away from the embrace, with a genuine expression of regret on his face. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Bilbo shook away the apology. "No, I would have doubted me too, _did_ doubt me too. I'm not a hero, or a warrior. Not even a burglar. All I am is a hobbit from the Shire. And for whatever that means, I will help you take back your home." He matched the smile on Thorin's face, but saw the dwarf staring at something intently over his head. He turned around and saw a mountain off in the horizon. "Is that…"

"Erebor, the Lonely Mountain," Harry confirmed, noticing all the dwarves seemed to have fallen into a reverent silence. "The last great kingdom of the dwarves in Middle-Earth."

"Our home," Thorin whispered. He felt two hands descend upon his shoulders, and saw both Harry and Bilbo standing beside him.

"We're almost there, Thorin. There will be a King Under the Mountain again," Harry promised. Whether it was orcs, or dragon's fire, Harry would see his friend through it all to reclaim that mountain. To give the dwarves a place to call home once more.

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><p>Done! Finally! Oh my gosh this took forever. This is my longest chapter, and I hope none of you think I sacrificed quality for length.<p>

I probably won't have another chapter up until next Sunday, as I'm back at school this week. Just wanted to let everyone know.

I also hope no one thinks Bilbo's accomplishment of getting a few kills is OOC. I only added them in where I think it was actually possible for him to have gotten said kills.

Anyways, as always read and review, and point out my spelling or grammar mistakes to be fixed. With a chapter this long, there are bound to be a few that spell check doesn't might miss.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything concerning Harry Potter or The Hobbit in anyway.

Thanks everyone for the support for the last chapter. I appreciate it all, and now I realize how much expectation is on me to present the meeting of the elves in Mirkwood spectacularly. That's not in this chapter, but will be the next, and I'm still trying different things to create the rapport Harry and Tauriel will feel with each other.

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><p>Harry took the lead as the company of sixteen trekked alongside the bank of a river, aiming to cover as much ground as possible since their descent from the mountain's peak. Though they hadn't slept for almost a full day now, their escape from the orcs atop the backs of eagles had sent a burst of adrenaline through their veins, and not a single member was weary.<p>

There was something almost ethereal in the air that night, a rare tingling beauty that would have had the most exhausted traveler feeling guilty about closing his eyes to it. The river sparkled in the evening glow, and the flowers growing along its banks caught the starlight and threw it back into the air with a spray of glittering droplets.

Normally quite cautious, and with good reason so far, the company couldn't help but relax themselves slightly at such beauty. They felt no threat of danger lurking in the darkness, and felt nothing but the sharp, crisp chill of the summer's breeze and the incessant pull of the heavens. Thorin and the other dwarves lost themselves in dreams of Erebor, and Bilbo in memories of the Shire and of Bag End. Had the others not been so preoccupied with their own enjoyment of the night, they would have noticed that Harry also walked with a little extra bounce in his already graceful step.

To Harry, these magnificent nights, when the heavenly skies reached down below the horizon, only bolstered his confidence in the most important and difficult decision he'd ever made: the choice to leave behind his world and seek out a new place to call home. Natural beauty such as this couldn't be found through the window back at Privet Drive, nor within the walls of Hogwarts, though the ceiling in the great hall came pretty close. Even while he'd been off horcrux hunting, Harry had been too preoccupied with his own safety, as well as that of Ron and Hermione, to take in the nature around them.

The crystalline sheen of the river began to gradually fade, as the approaching dawn dulled the stars. The unified disappointment of the company did not need to be spoken, as they made their camp in a spot near the riverbank sheltered by rocks. "It's a shame that nights like that are so few," Bilbo remarked, as the first ray of sunlight crept over the eastern horizon. Most of the others had drifted off to get a few hours of rest before they set out again for the day. The sight of the Lonely Mountain had lit a fire beneath the dwarves, and none of them wanted to delay their return any longer.

"Far too few," Harry agreed, as he and Thorin helped Bombur prepare their breakfast. Thorin had gathered the firewood, while Harry had caught the fish from the river and set the firewood alight with a silent spell. "What's our plan for the day?"

"We pass through the crags to the north," Thorin answered. "They are wild, and tales have reported orc sightings there in the past. But it is the quickest way towards Erebor from our present location."

"A-Aren't there any other paths? Somewhere less dangerous?" Bilbo asked.

"All roads in the north hold danger," Thorin replied.

Gandalf came over and began discussing the course they'd take, and Bilbo listened intently for a while, before deciding that he was contributing nothing useful and stepped away, leaving them to their planning. Upon turning away, he spotted Harry reclining in the shade of a tree that hung over the river, and Bombur halfway through his third helping of the fish stew.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a moment?" Bilbo asked, as he made his way over to the resting wizard.

"Of course," Harry replied easily. "What do you need?"

Bilbo paused, bringing out his sword, and inspected it nervously, as if holding a poisonous serpent that could bite him at a moment's notice. "Would you teach me how to fight with my sword? How to use it properly, I mean."

Harry frowned in confusion, and sat up to give Bilbo his full attention. "You seemed to handle yourself fairly well in the goblin tunnels."

"Well, no, the goblins I managed to kill in the tunnels were all distracted in some sense," Bilbo corrected, listing them off on his fingers. "The first goblin was startled by your sudden appearance, the next two had their vision obscured by that powder, and the goblins after that were all aiming to kill someone else, and never even noticed me."

Harry nodded contemplatively. It was true, that Bilbo had been mostly successful through acts of surprise and misdirection. He hadn't experienced a true, uninterrupted, head-on fight. And if those orcs they'd encountered on the forest ledge found them again, it was entirely possible that Bilbo would be forced into such a fight.

This line of thinking only served to remind him of his own battle against the pale orc, Bolg. Aside from the light skirmishes in the goblin tunnels, this had been his first **real** fight with Elvir and Ithilur. Sparring against Lord Elrond, who was taking care not to harm him whilst also teaching Harry where to strike for the most effect, was vastly different to facing a brutal, merciless orc who meant to kill him in the most painful way possible. It was one thing to be told that a sword slipping into an opponent's side would ensure a kill, and another thing entirely to see an enemy not only surviving such a strike, but retaliating without trouble.

"Alright, Bilbo. I can teach you, but in return, I will be expecting from you a sense of humility, dedication, and an understanding of this skill I was teaching, an appreciation of its potential for destruction." Harry told the hobbit, making sure to emphasize how serious he was about this matter. "I won't teach someone who lacks an appropriate level of mercy and compassion. After all, to learn _how_ to use a sword, one must first master _when_ to use a sword."

Bilbo heard himself gulp, as he stared up into the green eyes of the wizard, which seemed to glow more intensely with the light of the early morning sun. But he nodded nonetheless, understanding the point Harry was trying to impart unto him. "I understand, and I don't think you'll have any reason to worry about that with me. I will take this as seriously as you do, Harry."

Harry smiled, satisfied with that answer. "Alright then, we'll get started now, and continue whenever we next make camp." He led Bilbo away from the others to prevent any accidental injuries, and began showing the hobbit how to grip and hold his sword properly. Once that was done, he then began showing Bilbo the way he should be moving his wrist and arm to block, deflect, parry, and riposte against a wide number of different strikes, slices, and stabs.

"Shouldn't I be learning how to do these attacks myself?" Bilbo asked, while he moved his sword through the defensive motions Harry had taught him, receiving a light tap with the flat of Harry's sword each time he made a mistake.

"Better you learn how to defend yourself first. After all, you might win a thousand fights, but you can only lose one," Harry replied calmly. "It's not just about teaching you defense, either. It's about eliminating your instinct to perform useless actions that come from panicking and helpless flailing. Every action you take should serve to either offer you an advantage, or remove a disadvantage."

Bilbo remained silent for a while after that, working on committing the movements to memory. It was well into the morning by the time he could move his sword through nearly all of the different maneuvers just by instinct, no longer actively thinking about each one. Even as they traveled away from their riverside camp and covered a great many miles during the day, Bilbo walked with his sword out, getting a proper feel for its weight for a prolonged duration. What good would his sword be, if he became too exhausted too quickly while wielding it.

And so it went as the days passed them by, with Harry teaching Bilbo how to fight little by little every time they made camp. Once Harry was reasonably satisfied with Bilbo's progress on defense, he began testing those defenses with many light spars. He pressed the hobbit relentlessly, pointedly tapping him with the flat of a sword every time Bilbo inadvertently opened a gap in his defenses. Harry was quickly impressed with Bilbo's patience, as the hobbit never once let his mistakes bother him overtly. Instead, he took them as reminders and lessons, and used them to start improving.

While some of the other dwarves had a laugh at Bilbo's performance against Harry during these sessions, all good-naturedly of course, Harry never once taunted the hobbit, or tried to humiliate Bilbo with his superior skill. It was not in Harry's nature, nor would it ever be. He simply went about his task methodically, aiming to sharpen the hobbit's reflexes and impart the sense of self-preservation that Bilbo needed, unlike many other warriors.

Harry himself, had been taught to not concern himself with coming back alive. Aim to do so, sure, but never expect it. If you went into battle hoping to live, you would surely hold back, putting yourself in less danger and likely getting yourself killed because of your hesitance. Going into battle expecting to die meant that you would fight your hardest, and give only your best with each attack, which would greatly increase one's life expectancy.

Harry was actually quite impressed with Bilbo's raw ability and potential, deeply hidden as they were. He had feared that, despite his earlier feats of killing several goblins and a warg, Bilbo's rather reserved nature would render him untrainable, but the hobbit had risen to the challenge. Bilbo recognized and acknowledged the benefits he could reap from someone as adept with swords as Harry, and so made sure to listen to every word with rapt attention.

By the end of the tenth day, Bilbo was already able to deflect a good number of Harry's more common attacks. Harry said little to Bilbo during their spars in those first ten days, preferring to let their actions speak for themselves, but never held back a compliment he felt the hobbit deserved for a particularly good parry or counter, or more generally on the improvement Bilbo had shown in such a short period of time.

It got to the point where, Bilbo found himself eagerly anticipating these rare compliments and bits of praise from Harry, and dreading the inevitable taps from the elven swords whenever an opening in his guard was spotted. By the middle of the nineteenth day since the start of his instruction, Bilbo had obtained a great measure of control over his sword, twisting its handle and blade to deftly block the pair of whirling blades wielded by Harry.

Harry hadn't failed to notice the gradual change, as Bilbo stopped reacting after the fact of the deft cuts and thrusts from Elvir and Ithilur, and began recognizing his own vulnerable areas, anticipating the next attack.

When it eventually got to the point where Harry knew he personally couldn't teach Bilbo anything more of defense, and that the rest could only come from experience, he began the lessons of attack. Despite the fact that Bilbo also carried an elven blade, Harry knew his style of offense was not suited for the hobbit, even had Bilbo carried two weapons of his own. The hobbit lacked the reach and strength Harry possessed, and had to work with his unique physical attributes.

Harry relied on a wide variety of deceptive twists and feints to find or exploit openings against an enemy, but the hobbit's diminutive stature would do much of that for him. Very few enemies Bilbo was likely to face would've had experience fighting someone so small, smaller than any dwarf by a full head, at least. Harry could advise him on how best to strike at particular areas or targets that would be within easier reach for Bilbo's arms, but the hobbit would have to find and develop his own style of combat, one unique only to him.

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><p>It was just past the middle of the autumn season when the companions finally reached the crags, a long and narrow stretch of broken, rocky mounds and rolling hills. Unlike the majestic glow from the river more than a month's travel ago, these crags held a rough, untamed beauty that defined them; an overpowering sense of wilderness that gave each member of the company a certain sense of conquest, knowing they might be the first to gaze upon a particular spot.<p>

And, as was always the case in the wilds, with this sense of adventurous excitement came a decree of danger. They had barely entered the rocky labyrinth on the uneven terrain, when Harry spotted a set of tracks he was starting to recognize quite easily, the more he traveled with these dwarves: the trampling march of an orc band.

"Less than a day old," he told several of the concerned dwarves who had crowded around him to get a look.

"How many?" Thorin asked.

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Maybe a dozen, perhaps two?"

Thorin frowned, turning the handle of his axe over and over in his hands. "How could they have caught up to us so fast? How could they have beaten us here?"

Harry shook his head. "They didn't. Didn't you notice?" Harry asked, pointing with his finger into the dirt at the orc tracks. Glancing up at Thorin's eyes, he knew the dwarf had then come to understand his point. "There are no warg tracks. These orcs travel by foot. I don't think that Azog and his ilk caught up to us, but rather, he's called on others to search for us along the many possible paths to Erebor. Even as we speak these orcs search the crags for our company."

"We'll keep moving then," Thorin decided. "These orcs are ahead of us within this labyrinth of rock and stone, which is far more preferable to having them behind us."

When sunset came, marking the end of their day's travel, the company had decided to make camp within an empty clearing, a semi-circle of rock, with only one entrance in, and stone taller than either of the wizards at their backs. The orc trail still appeared to be moving ahead of them, but Gandalf, at the rear of the company, kept his sights trained behind.

"We're being followed," Gandalf muttered to the inquiring faces of Thorin and Harry.

"The orcs?" Thorin asked.

Gandalf nodded an affirmative. "These orcs may be cunning, but they are certainly not subtle."

Harry furrowed his brow for a moment, before he realized what Gandalf had meant. "They're baiting us! The orc tracks moving ahead of us has just been two, maybe three orcs, lulling us into a false sense of security. The rest of them have been trailing behind us, waiting for an opportunity to strike."

As if to confirm Harry's assessment, Bilbo ran back into the clearing, having been scouting ahead instead of Harry at Gandalf's suggestion. "The orc tracks faded off to the north. The path is clear. They must have run off or something." Where Bilbo expected his report to be met with signs of relief, he saw only grim looks of worry on the faces of the three around him. "What's wrong?"

Gandalf was the one who filled Bilbo in on the situation, while Harry was flying up to the top of the stone before anyone could stop him. From then on, the members of the company began making preparations, for they would be baiting the orcs into _their_ trap this night. Bilbo, though he trusted Harry's exceptionally keen falcon eyes to watch out for them, could not bring himself to sleep, his blood pumping in anticipation for what was to come.

The majority of the dwarves, veterans of countless fights, felt secure enough in their battle prowess to grab a few hours of sleep before nightfall. Dwalin in particular, rested upright against the stone at the far end of the clearing, clutching Grasper and Keeper in his hands as he slept. The faintest hint of noise, would have the dwarf tightening his hold on their handles, ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

Meanwhile, Bilbo, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Nori, and Gandalf set about making the campsite look well lived in, lighting the fire pit and dousing it soon after, leaving the charred wood out in the open. They oriented the bedrolls around the clearing, making sure each was thoroughly rumpled and messy, and even placed several silver and gold coins beneath the blankets to further the deception. It had been quite hard for Nori and Gloin to part with the coins, and Bilbo almost felt sorry for any orcs who so much as touched them. Almost.

With all of their preparations serving to temper their anticipation, it came as somewhat of a relief when, barely an hour after sunset, their anxiety became reality. Harry flew down from his perch so swiftly and silently, that Bilbo never realized that the wizard was back on the ground beside them until he saw the transformation himself. "There is movement in the trees at the edge of the labyrinth."

"How many?" Thorin asked softly, slowly drawing out Orcrist.

"Two to one odds against us, about what I'd expected earlier," Harry whispered back. "Their attempt at a stealthy approach tells me they believe surprise is still with them."

"And a reversed surprise is better than a first strike from afar," Thorin finished. "Kili, do what you can with your bow when the orcs arrive. Split them up and stop them from rushing together in large groups."

Kili nodded and was apparated up to the top of the large stone with Harry's aid, drawing out an arrow and fingering the fletching as he nocked it onto his bowstring, waiting for the pack of orcs to flow into their trap.

Harry then dropped back down to a slightly lower perch, still a ways off the ground, and rested his hands on the hilts of Elvir and Ithilur. In such an enclosed space, he wouldn't be able to get off many spells without risk of hitting one of the dwarves, Gandalf or Bilbo. Better to wade into the thick of battle and send his blades singing into the orcs. He glanced around at the rest of the company who began drawing out their own weapons and took up hiding positions amongst the rocks, appearing as nothing more than natural parts of the crags around them. Bilbo was the last to hide, taking the time to stuff the bedrolls to create the deception of sleeping bodies, before hiding beneath Kili in the shadows. Like Harry, he was wise enough not to draw out his blade, as the blue-glowing enchantment would give away their location.

Moments later, the orcs approached the enclosed campsite in a ring formation, obviously expecting easy kills. Harry smiled in satisfaction, as he spotted several gaps in the ring, vulnerable flanks that would prevent quick support to any isolated groups. The whole band would hit the bedrolls at the back together, and Dwalin, closest to that spot, would most likely initiate their ambush.

The orcs crept in and quickly separated into two groups, one heading towards the fire pit, and another heading towards the farthest bedrolls. Four of them passed Dwalin, but he waited a moment longer, allowing the others to get close enough to the rock for Gloin to strike.

The time for hiding had ended.

Gloin leapt out from between two large rocks, shouting a challenge in khuzdul, as his axe cleaved one down the center, and took a second orc's head clean from his shoulders before the remaining two even realized they'd been attacked. As the remaining two near Gloin prepared to face him together, Dwalin charged in with a furious cry, Grasper slamming into the side of one skull, caving it in completely, while Keeper chopped down diagonally, burying itself deeply within the last orc's face.

Kili picked the orcs closest to the groups of emerging dwarves as his targets, delaying any support against his friends for as long as possible. His bow fired once, twice, and a third time, dropping an equal number of orcs to the ground, their eyes open in shock and their hands desperately clutching the shafts of the arrows that killed them.

Their surprise strikes had cut deeply into the enemy ranks, Harry noticed, and the orcs were now scrambling about in panic, trying to fight against the rampaging dwarves who had so successfully turned around the ambush with one of their own. Harry drew out his blades and dropped into the battle, confident that he and the company could finish the rest off quickly.

Harry came down in the middle of three orcs, his blades spinning into motion before his feet had even touched the ground. The orcs weren't completely surprised by the action, as one of them had seen the man descending, but Harry had them off balance and rushing around to bring their weapons to bear.

With his quick reflexes and lightning-like strikes, any delay at all from the orcs meant certain death, and Harry was the only one in the jumble of bodies with any semblance of control. The finely-crafted elven blades slashed and thrust into orc flesh with deadly precision, dropping three orcs within five seconds of Harry's landing.

Bofur's results were equally successful, as he faced off against two of the orcs alone, and though they were vicious fighters, neither orc could match the dwarf's pure strength. One of the orcs managed to get its crude spear up in time to block Bofur's swing, but the heavy-headed mattock blasted through the defense, shattering the spear and then the unfortunate orc's skull, without even slowing down for the effort.

Gloin was the first to fall into trouble. His first two strikes had gone off without a hitch, taking out the first two orcs while Dwalin finished off the last two. However, as more and more orcs streamed in, the red-bearded dwarf was slowly forced back, until a lucky hit with the shaft of a spear caught him in the head and knocked him to the ground. Bifur, Nori, and Fili rushed to the aid of their companion, but one orc slipped through and rushed in to finish off the stunned dwarf.

Luckily, Gloin had fallen close to Bilbo's location, and the hobbit slipped out from his hiding place and fell in silently behind the orc. Standing so close, it seemed taller than normal for an orc, and Bilbo didn't fancy his chances striking for the head. Shrugging his shoulders, Bilbo decided to revise his strategy to suit him, as Harry had suggested.

Before the orc had even raised its sword to strike, Bilbo drove his blade up between its knees and higher, driving into its groin and lifting it clear off the ground. The howling victim grasped uselessly at its injury, its eyes lolling about without focus, and dropped to the ground once the sword was retracted, quite obviously, and painfully, dead. He held out a hand to Gloin, who gratefully used it to pull himself to his feet. Rather than heading back into the mass of orcs, the two were content to let orcs be funneled in towards them naturally, by the movements and flow of the other combatants around them.

Another six orcs rushed in at Harry, who had been heading to the aid of Bilbo until he saw that the hobbit had taken care of his opponent quite nicely. Four made it within reach of him, but the last two were taken care of by Bombur and Oin. Bombur came barreling in, momentum fully on his side, and belly-slammed the two orcs aside, before smashing his steel-forged ladle into the jaw of an orc, knocking it into the air, only to be slammed back down by Oin with his battle staff.

Oin then jammed the end of his staff into the mouth of the orc, breaking a few teeth along the way to fit, held it deep within the throat and forced the orc's jaw to remain open. The dwarf, who acted as the company's walking apothecary, then lifted the orc high into the air by the mouth and slammed the creature into the ground, absolutely obliterating the remains of the jaw and the skull.

Of the four orcs who had gotten through towards Harry, the leader attempted to stab its spear up at his face, but Harry's rush was too quick. After the orc's spear tip had turned towards him, but before it even moved, Harry waded in towards his enemies, Elvir and Ithilur leading the way. The other three orcs watched in horrified amazement, as Harry's blades snapped up twice, tearing the throat from their leader. The over eager orc fell backward silently, grasping futilely at its gushing throat.

An orc to the side reacted first, leveling its spear and charging at Harry. The agile wizard easily deflected the straightforward attack, but made sure not to slow the orc's momentum. As the foul creature lumbered past him, Harry rolled around behind it and kicked out its ankles. Off balance, the orc stumbled on, plunging its weapon deep into the chest of another startled companion.

The orc tugged at its weapon, but it was too firmly embedded, the barbed head hooked around the other orc's spine. As with any one of its race, the orc held no concern for its dying kin; all it wanted was its weapon back. It yanked and twisted, cursing and spitting frustrations in black speech onto the agonized expressions crossing its companion's face, until Harry finally sank Ithilur's blade into its skull.

The last orc, seeing the man distracted and thinking it wiser to engage such a foe from a distance, dropped its axe and pulled a rough, wooden bow and a dark arrow fletched with crow feathers from its back. It raised the bow to fire, but before the bowstring was even pulled back, Dwalin crashed in, and the orc and dwarf tumbled away. The orc delivered heavy punches into the dwarf's side, but Dwalin's own strikes, aided by the heavy steel knuckledusters he wore on each hand, were far more effective. One after another, they slammed into the orc's snarling face, breaking bone and cartilage, until finally, the orc's skull sunk in from a powerful slam by Dwalin's left hand.

In the split second it took for Harry to turn around from the three dead orcs he had at his feet, the fourth, and last apparently, lay dead beneath Dwalin, who was sitting atop its fallen carcass like a comfortable bench. All around the clearing, the dwarves were lowering blood-stained weapons, and roaring in victory over the bodies of their fallen enemies.

Harry laughed in relief, and cleaned the black blood off of his weapons and slid them home in their scabbards, as he made his way into the middle of the company. It was decided that the bodies would be piled together and burned, an insult for Azog should he eventually come upon them.

As the built up adrenaline was leaving their bodies, the company gathered up their belongings and set out in the night, as they certainly weren't going to sleep here now. They traveled quickly through the labyrinth in the early twilight hours, and had nearly reached the end as the sun was rising, only to hear the echo of a warg howl in the distance behind them.

"He was that close?" Thorin whispered, glancing back in the direction from whence they'd came.

"Harry, go and find them from the air. Within these rocks, that warg call could have come from much closer than it appeared," Gandalf implored his fellow wizard.

"W-What? But they'll shoot him down!" Bilbo protested.

Harry chuckled, drawing the hobbit's eyes back onto him. "There isn't an orc alive that can bring down a falcon in flight. I'll be fine, so just sit tight here." Allowing them no more time to speak, Harry shifted into his animagus form and took flight, rising well above the rocks and soaring through the early morning clouds, as he peered at the crags below him.

He passed the rising smoke from their bonfire of dead orc carcasses, the fire having died out hours ago, and saw the pair of pale orcs astride their wargs riding through the crags towards the smoke. The company had covered a good deal of distance since then, and would likely keep outpacing the orcs for a fair amount of time. Satisfied, Harry turned around and began to return, when he saw a massive creature emerging from a copse of trees outside the crags to the left.

Harry circled above the trees for several moments, trying to get a clearer view of the creature, and had his wish granted when it stepped out into the sunlight. It was a massive, monstrous bear, covered in dark brown fur and decorated with scars all across its body and snout, a testament to the creature's fortitude. To his shock, the bear glanced up and stared directly at him, which Harry took as his cue to leave, heading back towards the company and descending rapidly, shifting back into a man moments before he hit the ground.

"Azog and the orcs have nearly reached the bonfire. At our current pace, we'll keep ahead of them for at least another four hours," Harry reported.

"Have the wargs picked up our scent?" Dwalin demanded.

Harry shook his head. "Unlikely, the thick smell of burning orcs will have erased the traces of our presence in the air, but that's not the problem."

"Did they see you?" Gandalf asked seriously.

"No, but something else did," Harry answered. "There was a creature out there, tremendous in size and proportional in strength, I'd wager. It, pardon the expression, dwarfed the wargs by at least a foot or two in size."

"What form did it take? Like a bear?" Gandalf inquired, the tone of his voice betraying his knowledge of the creature.

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded slightly, confirming the wizard's suspicions. "Exactly like a bear, but much bigger than any example I've ever seen. I encountered it on the way back, a fair bit closer to our current position than I'd like. Gandalf… it will reach us before the orcs."

"You knew about this beast?" Bofur asked Gandalf accusingly. He shook his head negatively. If _Harry_ was worried about such a creature, then there was indeed a good cause to worry. "I say we double back."

"And get run down by a pack of orcs?" Thorin countered, which set off the other dwarves in a frenzy of arguments and suggestions, all trying to get their ideas heard, until they were finally interrupted by Gandalf.

"There is a house. It's not far from here, where we might take refuge."

"Whose house?" Thorin demanded skeptically. "Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither," Gandalf answered after a moment's hesitation. "He will help us, or… he will kill us."

Suddenly a thunderous roar tore through the crags, startling the lot of them, and had many hands reaching for their weapons.

"Half a chance is better than none," Harry said hastily. "Lead on, Gandalf."

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><p>And done.<p>

This chapter acts more as an intermediary, which I feel this story needs. After all, Bilbo was gone for a long time, and there's a lot of travel time between major events. Doing chapters like these I felt, would give my readers a sense of this urgency to reach Erebor before the end of autumn and also how long Bilbo's been away from the Shire.

I realized that the sword training of Bilbo could fit in quite well here, now that he's had a taste of combat. Again I have to thank Joe Lawyer for this, as he was the one who suggested slipping it in after something dangerous, to show Bilbo his inadequacies.

And a slight change and addition to just before the scene in the Desolation of Smaug at the beginning. The next chapter will have the parts everyone's been waiting to read, which I might not have up next week, as it will take longer to write and to perfect.

As always, read and review, and point out any spelling or grammar mistakes I might have missed so I can correct them. Thanks.


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